Burning Saints
by LayAtHomeMom
Summary: As this saint burns, so will burn my soul should I betray the oath of Omertà. I enter alive and will have to leave dead.
1. Chapter 1

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.**

 **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.**

* * *

 **Wednesday, March 14, 1956  
** **11:20 PM**

"Mr. Cullen," a voice booms from behind the interrogation room door as it swings open, and two of Chicago's finest walk in.

"Gentlemen," I say with a smirk, raising my cuffed hands in the air.

The short one with the crew cut and the glasses drops his files on the table and fishes the keys to the handcuffs out of his pocket while the other takes a seat. "I'm Detective Biers. This is my partner Detective Crowley."

I dip my chin to the smug-looking prick with the greased back hair who's sitting across from me, scowling and clicking his pen cap incessantly.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions with regards to a few of your former associates," Glasses continues, removing the cuffs.

"I'm sure I won't be much help, officers." I tap my temple. "Bad memory."

"That's _detective_." Crowley sneers, scooping up the files and slamming them on the desk. "And we figured you'd need some help jogging that memory of yours." He slaps a photo down in front of me. "Let's start with this one."

He points to a mugshot of a fella named Diego and I shake my head. "I'm sorry, I don't know who this is, officer."

"DE-TEC-TIVE!" Crowley spits.

"Whatever you say, Slick."

"How about now?" Glasses asks, sliding over another photo of Diego. Only this time, he's battered and bruised up with his eyes swollen shut and resting in his current state.

Deceased.

Slick leans over the table. "Diego Martinez. He died of blunt force trauma – ring a bell, now?"

 _A few baseball bats to the head will do that to ya'_ , I think to myself as I eye the Bridgeport boys' handiwork. I push it back towards them. "Sorry. I don't know who that is."

"Witnesses say he was last seen at Emmett Cullen's rehearsal dinner. Were you there?"

"I was, but I didn't see this gentleman, although I _was_ a bit distracted that evening."

"And why's that?"

"Because that's the night I met my wife."

* * *

 **July 1954**

"There he is!" Uncle Carlisle holds his arms open as he steps out of his shiny black Bel Air, snapping his fingers at his driver. "Sal, grab his bags."

Sal jerks his chin at me, takes my suitcase and shakes my hand. "Been a long time, kid. How ya' doin'?"

"I'm all right. Good to see you, Sally,"

"Come here you," Carlisle says, hugging me tight before holding the car door open. He looks older, graying at the temples.

I slip inside the car and he follows. "How's it goin', Uncle C?"

"Good, good. How was your flight?"

"Uneventful." I reach into my pocket and hand him an envelope. "Before I forget, Momo sends his regards."

He pulls it open and brushes his thumb over the bills in the envelope then runs the Cuban cigar beneath his nose. "How is Momo?"

"Doin' well. He's got a good thing goin' down there."

"I haven't been to Havana in ages," he muses, stuffing the envelope in his front pocket.

I shrug, looking out the window at my city. "Not a lot has changed down there in the past five years. Not like here," I say, tapping my finger against the glass, pointing at the ever-growing Chicago skyline.

"Lots of changes in the landscape," he agrees, peering out his window. "Lots of changes coming within the family as well." He looks to me. "Big changes."

"You retiring?"

"Nah, not yet. But I'm slowin' down. Got this thing goin' on with my lung, keepin' me up half the night." Waving his hand like no matter, he continues, "But we're goin' to have some movement in the ranks. Philly's gonna be steppin' down soon. He's got the Feds all over him for some tax bullshit, and we don't need that kind of attention."

Philly Neri's a goddamn disgrace. I have no doubts that if my father were alive today and still the boss, that skinny fucker wouldn't be breathing, let alone the consigliere to the family. "That's too bad."

Carlisle shrugs. "Eh, what can ya' do?"

 _Fucking shoot him in the face, that's what you can do._ "Where are we headed?"

"We've got an important meeting, but I gotta make a quick stop first."

"Like a sit down?"

Carlisle smirks and Sal chuckles while he double parks in front of a flower shop. "Something like that, come on."

Welcoming bells hit the glass and we remove our hats as we enter the store. The florist gives my uncle a wave and points to the phone, mouthing the words 'one minute' to him before going back to her conversation, ignoring the two ladies standing at the counter. "I'm sorry. I missed that, Mr. Banner. You said you wanted to send your wife a bouquet of what?"

A short brunette waiting to be served in front of us nudges the older woman next to her. "Two bucks says it's an 'I'm sorry I cheated' special."

Carlisle and I laugh, but the older woman gives her a pinch and whisper-yells her name. "Isabella!"

"Owww!"

"You and that mouth. I swear you'll never find a husband if you keep that up." The older woman looks to the ceiling. "Lord, forgive her."

"Well, lots of flowers can say 'sorry.'" The corner of the florist's lips turns up and the smart mouth brunette quirks a brow at her mother. "Hyacinths or maybe …" She listens and scribbles down his order. "Red roses should do the trick then – we'll send them right over, Mr. Banner." Hanging up the phone, she turns to the ladies. "How can I help you gals today?"

"I'm here to pick up an order of corsages for Rosalie Hale, but she might have placed the order under her mother's name."

"Are you a member of the Cullen-Hale wedding party?"

"Yes, I'm Rosalie's personal attendant, B—"

"I thought that was you!" Carlisle interrupts, extending his hand to her. "Bella, right?"

The brunette turns around startled, but smiling. "Mr. Cullen."

"Good to see you, sweetheart. How've you been?" he says, shaking her hand and pulling her in for a kiss on the cheek.

"Swell, thanks. I'm just running some errands for Rose before the rehearsal tonight."

Her mother butts in, getting her face time in with the boss, which I don't mind because I'm getting a better look at her daughter, and I gotta say that the view from behind has nothing on the view from the front. I start from the bottom up, good gams, great hips, nice rack, but it's when I see the smirk and the eyes that I know I've been caught. She stares at me, and I stare right back, fuckin' shameless.

"Bella, this is my nephew, Edward." He claps me on the back. "He's one of Emmett's groomsmen."

"Pleasure to meet you," she says, sliding her hand into mine.

"Mr. Cullen, I've got your order all ready," the florist cuts in carrying two huge bouquets of white flowers.

"Thanks, Mrs. Cope. Just put it on my tab." He takes the flowers and nods to Bella and her mother. "We'll see you ladies this evening." I give Bella's hand a quick squeeze before letting go and placing my hat on my head. Carlisle slaps the bouquets into my chest. "Come on, we're late."

* * *

Ten minutes later, we pull into the cemetery, and I look at my uncle who's coughing into his handkerchief. My father is buried here. This is one of the last places I remember being before my uncle sent me off to Cuba five years ago.

Clearing his throat, he stuffs the handkerchief into his pocket and straightens his tie. "It's the most important sit down I have every week." Glancing out the window, I see my mother and Aunt Es standing over his grave. "Your ma … she's missed you." I nod, thinking that maybe I should've called her more than once every couple of months over the past few years. "We all have."

"Do you think she knows?" I ask, turning back to look at Carlisle, wondering if he ever told her the truth about why I left.

Shrugging, he tilts his head back and forth. "She may suspect." Sal opens the door for him. "Let's go pay our respects then we'll grab somethin' to eat."

"Wait a minute." I point at the tall man with graying hair standing protectively by a car near my father's grave. "Is that Chopper? What's he doing here?"

"Yeah, Aro. He's, uh, your mom's …" He waves his hand, looking for the word. "Driver. Has been since all that stuff with your dad went down. At first it was just a safety measure, now I think she just keeps him around for companionship."

"Companionship?" I raise an eyebrow at him, considering the last time I saw Chopper he was quartering off the piece of shit who supposedly murdered my father on a dirty feedlot floor at the Yards. He's certainly interesting company for my mother to be keeping.

"Like I said, kid." He pulls his fedora onto his head and angles it slightly. "Lots of changes."

Carlisle's voice echoes throughout the cemetery, letting them know 'look who he found.' I hear my mother stifle her gasp and watch as her eyes well up with tears.

"Ciao, Ma,'" I pull her in for a hug and notice that she feels smaller, almost frail. Hardly the crazed woman I remember weeping over my father's bullet ridden body at the morgue, screaming at my uncle in Italian.

I'll never forget how her eyes looked as she pled with him, demanding that he kill them. Kill them all.

 _Which we did_.

My mother cradles my face and peppers kisses all over my cheeks. "I've missed you, figlio mio. Let me look at you." She gives me a quick once over. "You look just like him. Es, doesn't he look just like my Ed?"

Stepping forward, my Aunt Es wraps her arms around me. "We've missed you so much."

"I've missed you, too."

An awkward silence falls over the three of us until Aunt Es can't take it any longer. "So do you have anyone special these days?"

"No!" My mother answers for me, making a face at her. "No one special from Cuba."

"Tonia," she scolds my mother, twisting her lips. "He's a grown man, he can have a girl from Cuba."

"No!" my mother says, her accent still thick as ever and always sharper when she's displeased. Shaking her head, my mother wags her finger. "No Cuban girls for my son." She turns back to me, cupping my face again, eyeing me hopefully. "We find you a nice Italian girl, yes?"

"Whatever you say, Ma," I tell her, kissing her cheek before crouching down to place a bouquet in front of the gravestone.

Running my hand through the grass, I think back to the day of the burial, remembering that there was a foot of snow and the ground was frozen solid, so they weren't able to dig a hole for his casket. I lower my head and close my eyes, silently mouthing the words Father Francis said at the burial.

 _May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen._

We each quietly reflect and stare at my father's tombstone, until my uncle starts hacking into his handkerchief again.

"We've gotta go," my aunt says, dabbing her eyes. "Our hair appointments are at eleven o'clock."

My mother rises to her feet making the sign of the cross to God above, before blowing a kiss to her love below. "Yes, let's go. Edward, I'll see you tonight." Waving, I watch her as she turns to my uncle and smacks his arm. "Get him to your tailor _immediatamente_."

He laughs. "Will do, Tonia."

"Grazie." She and Aunt Es barely make it ten steps before she yells over her shoulder. "And burn the hideous Cuban shirt he's wearing!"

* * *

A new suit, a shave and a shoe-shine later, I step out of my uncle's car feeling more myself than I have in years. My hair feels a bit stiff from the amount of Brylcreem the barber slapped on, but I suppose I'll get used to it.

"Ho-ly shit. Look who it is, gentlemen," my cousin Emmett drawls from the steps in front of the cathedral before flicking his cigarette.

Widening my arms, I pull him in for a hug. "How's it goin', Em?"

Emmett slaps my back a few times. "I'm great. How you been, huh? Nailin' showgirls two at a time out there in Ha-v-ana?"

"Nah, man." I say, when he smacks my cheek then gives it a smooch. "Get outta here with that."

Smiling, he releases me and starts making introductions. "You remember Paulie, yeah?"

"Of course." I nod, shaking Paulie's hand, noting the pox marks in his cheeks that earned him his name, Paulie 'Pox' Pagano. From what I remember he's one of the wild boys from Chicago Heights. "Good to see you," I say before turning to our longtime friend. "Felix."

"How ya' doin', Eddie?"

"Eh, all right." We do the half hug, half shake thing. "Can't complain. You?"

"Doin' well. Gotta wife, couple of kids." He shrugs. "Life's good."

Felix is one of the few fellas I've missed since leaving. On the surface, he's a laid back guy, keeps his head down, and does his thing. Word from the bird is that he's one of Carlisle's top earners, but he's more well-known for his headline-making hits over the years than any amount of money he's brought in for The Outfit.

Emmett jerks his chin to the one guy I don't recognize. "And this fat fuck is my driver, Benny Cheney. We call him Big Ben," he says, slapping the poor bastard's gut. I give his hand a quick shake, not remotely surprised by his dead fish grip. _This kid is weak_.

When I turn back to Emmett, his eyes are trained to the street, and his hands are shoved in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. I follow his gaze to the stacked blonde making her way up the steps, her eyes never leaving his. She doesn't even need to open her mouth because I can spot a crazy broad from a mile away, and this one is just his type. "This must be the new missus."

"Sorry I'm late," she purrs, reaching for his face.

He palms her ass like they're not standing on the stoop of the house of the Lord. "Gimme some sugar."

"Christ," Felix mutters, heading into the church. "I'll meet youse inside, I'm gonna go say a prayer for those two."

I look at Paulie who lights up a cigarette and inhales deeply before waving in the kissing couple's direction. "Looks like we get dinner and a show."

Reaching back, Em flips him the bird as his intended breaks the kiss. "Baby, I want you to meet Edward." Extending my hand to her, she sizes me up. "Edward, this is Rose."

"It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," the dame says, shaking my hand like a man. "Em's told me so much about you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Growing up and stuff. I've seen pictures." She pauses, like she's waiting on something, and I see Em give me a look.

"He's told me a lot about you too," I lie smoothly. "This guy's crazy about you."

Em squeezes her to him as she eats that shit up. "She knows I am."

Giggling, she excuses herself, leaving us to catch up.

"Benny," Carlisle calls from the corner, thumbing towards the brunette from the flower shop who's lugging a huge box up the sidewalk. "Make yourself useful, go help the lady."

Emmett slaps his butt like a mule. "Go get 'er, Big Ben."

"Gentlemen," Carlisle greets us as I light up a smoke.

"That's the girl from the flower shop, yeah?"

Carlisle smirks, watching Benny's interaction with her. "Yeah, that's Bel-la."

"What's her story?"

Paulie snorts. "One word - ball buster."

"That's two, dipshit." Emmett motions for my cig and takes a drag. "She's a good friend of Rosie's. They grew up together on the north side, debutant shit and all that. I think she's tryin' to be a nurse or whatever the broads are doin' these days."

"Until she finds a husband," Paulie adds. "Some poor sucker's gonna get reeled in by that face and figure and before he knows it, his balls are wrapped up in some butcher paper in her pocketbook. Mark my words."

Em hands back my smoke and nudges my arm. "Why? You into her?" I shrug my shoulder, watching Fatty Arbuckle sweating up a storm as he carries her box of flowers. "Because her _daddy_ might have a problem with that."

"Oh yeah?" I ask while they all chuckle around me.

"Yeah," Carlisle cuts in with a slight smile. "The honorable Judge Charlie Swan might object. But for the right price …" He pats his pocket with the envelope. "I'm sure he'll allow it."

* * *

"Lots of eligible ladies here tonight," Aunt Es says, taking my arm while my mother links her hand around my other as we enter the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. "What about that one?" She points to a tall, tan brunette checking herself out in her compact. "That's Giuseppe's daughter, Gianna. She's—"

"No," my mother says firmly. "I know her mother, and I saw her at the grocer buying a jar of sauce." She shakes her head. "No. She's no good for my son."

"Shameful," Aunt Es agrees sounding just as disgusted.

"Edward," Carlisle calls from behind us. "Can I see you a moment?"

"I'll save you a seat," my mother says, patting my cheek.

Pulling me close, my uncle lowers his voice. "Listen, I want you in on this. Two uninvited guests showed up, and we're going to have a little talk in the back office. You don't have to say anything, I just want you there. You need to watch." He points to his ear. "And listen carefully. Understand?"

I nod and he leads me back to the office where I notice two men standing in the middle of the room surrounded by Emmett, Felix, and Paulie.

"Gentlemen," Carlisle says quietly, shutting the door behind him. "I wasn't aware there was a meeting planned."

"That's 'cause there wasn't one." Emmett circles the two men before inviting them to sit at the chairs in front of the desk. They sit, but he remains standing over them. "What's this all about, Diego?"

The one with the scar over his eye leans forward in his seat. "The timing couldn't be helped."

Em's fists clench at his sides before hiding them in his pockets. "So cut to the chase. What's so fucking important that it couldn't wait?"

"We are … unhappy." Diego gestures in Em's direction. "With how things are being handled. Particularly the gaming in Chinatown."

I suspect he's anticipating a reaction, but Emmett doesn't bite. "And?"

"And … we're losing profits. This is unfortunate given how many years we've done business together." He tilts his head, giving Em then Carlisle a pointed look. "We don't appreciate—"

"No, you _don't_ appreciate," Emmett interrupts him. "That's a part of the problem. We've done business together for many years. If you're losing profits, it's not 'cause of the games we've got going in Chinatown. It's _your_ neighborhood with your scumbag clientele. Clean up your fuckin' backyard before dumping your shit in mine."

"But the Chinese…"

"But nothin'," Emmett interrupts him. "Our business with the Chinese is just that – _our_ business. Not yours. Now kindly see yourselves out."

Diego stands abruptly and I see Paulie and Felix move for their pieces. "That's disrespectful!"

"Nah, Diego." Emmett stands to his full height and steps forward, calmly correcting him. "It's disrespectful to show up at my rehearsal dinner, unannounced, demanding a sit down." He jabs his finger into his chest and narrows his eyes. "If you ever pull some shit like this again, I'll show you what being disrespectful is by sending Felix and his boys over for a visit with that cute little sister of yours." Leaning in, he grins and his voice drops. "Ma-ria."

Felix blows Diego a loud kiss from across the room.

Emmett smoothes his hands over Diego's shoulders before seizing them and smiling out the side of his mouth. "Do I make myself clear?"

Two loud knocks sound behind me and Rose barges in. "Emmett, they're serving the food and we really need …" Her eyes widen, taking in the scene, but she recovers quickly. "To start the speeches."

"Gentlemen, I'll see you out," Paulie cuts in, holding the door open behind her.

Diego nods to Emmett and follows his associate out, but not before grabbing Rose's hand to kiss it. "Best wishes on your wedding, Ms. Hale."

Paulie leads them out of the room as Felix walks up behind Emmett for instruction.

"Send the boys down in Bridgeport to see him and his buddy for a baseball game and some steak," Em says over his shoulder nonchalantly like he's not ordering a beating. "Make it bloody."

Rose saunters up to Emmett, kisses his cheek and apologizes. "Sorry about that."

"Don't ever let it happen again," he warns, tipping her chin up.

"I won't. I promise." He hugs her to him, and she tugs on his tie. "But just a heads-up. If I ever hear of _you_ visiting his sister or any other girl for that matter …" She hums before whispering loud enough for us to hear. "I'll swing for the fences."

Shoving a cigar in his mouth, he strikes a match and lights it up, watching her walk away before turning to me. "She sure is somethin', ain't she?"

* * *

When we return to the private dining room, I notice Big Ben chatting up the pretty brunette I keep seeing … Bella. He's leaning in and speaking closely, propping all his weight on the bar beside her.

"This ought to be good," I mutter to myself before motioning to Emmett that I'm gonna grab a drink.

Walking up behind him, I listen as he embarrasses himself.

"You like cars?" he asks, trying to sound smooth. "Because I've got a brand new Cadillac Coupe de Ville sitting outside." She doesn't acknowledge him, but she doesn't brush him off, so he keeps going. "They showed it at the auto show last year. Did you go?" Still nothing, but he won't let up. "You know, the one at the Amphitheatre? I'll bet you could've modeled next to the cars. Are you a model?"

Her mouth turns up in amusement, but this is too painful to watch. I've gotta put this kid out of his misery. "Hey, Big Ben, right?" I ask, gripping his shoulder.

Startled, he turns and looks at me like I've got a dick in my mouth. "Yeah, uh, Edward, right?"

"Right. Listen, Emmett wants you to go stand by the car."

He looks confused. "He said that?"

"Yeah, he wants you to go outside and stand by the car."

"Just stand there?"

"That's what he said." I shrug. "I mean, if you wanna go interrupt the speeches and ask him, be my guest."

"No, no," he says, putting his drink down. "Did he say until when?"

I smile. "He'll come get you."

Benny excuses himself, kissing her hand, and it takes everything in me not to put my foot in his ass to move him along.

I raise my chin to the bartender to get his attention.

"Well, you just scared away another potential Mr. Right," she deadpans.

"Yeah, you sound real broken up about it. You want a drink?"

She laughs. "Tom Collins, please."

"Scotch for me and a Tom Collins for the lady."

She thanks me when I hand her the drink, giving me a small wink as she wraps her lips around the straw before looking out over the guests. I follow her eyes to her mother who's talking to a young guy and pointing in Bella's direction. "Jesus, my mother's relentless."

"Tell me about it, I got those two," I motion to my mother and Aunt Es, "scouting potential wives for me."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, they've got all these prerequisites. It's ridiculous."

Grinning, she swirls the straw in her drink. "Well let's see …" She points to a platinum blonde Marilyn Monroe lookalike. "That's Lauren. She's single, good family, nice girl."

"Nah, not my type." I turn up my nose at the sight of her.

"Then how about the brunette over there? That's Gianna, she's—"

"Nope. She doesn't make her own sauce accordin' to my mother."

"Well that's unfortunate," she says, looking slightly appalled.

"Are you Italian?"

"I am. Well, half-Italian. My dad's Irish." She laughs. "But I'm Italian enough to know that you should always make your own sauce."

We stand in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, her running her finger along the pearls of her necklace and watching people around the room, while I try to figure out what it is about this broad that's got me so intrigued.

"So what's your type then?"

I'm quiet, just standing there until she finally meets my gaze. "I know it when I see it."

"Oh," she says softly with a shy smile and steps a few feet away from the bar, raising her glass to toast me as she goes. "Well then I hope you find what you're looking for."

 _I already have.  
_

* * *

 **A/N: Eek. Writing in a different genre is terrifying - thanks so much for giving it a go!**

 **This is the first full-length fic I've done in ages. I plan on posting each Thursday night, so there'll be one more update this week, and then one chapter a week after that until complete.**

 **Huge love and thanks to my pals and fellow admins at The Lemonade Stand for featuring Burning Saints on their Sneak Peek Saturday (and for all the hand-holding because you guys know I'm a hot mess of nervousness before posting** _ **anything**_ **). I appreciate you, ladies!**

 ***shamefaced* Carrie and I have been crazy busy, so we only have one to let it WIP tonight, but it's a damn good one.**

 **Summer Rain by Ninkita** **-** _ **She walked in, with her attitude and a polka dot umbrella. Whatever else I expected this miserable, rainy night, it definitely wasn't this.**_

 **Tell me, pals – what are you WIPing these days?**

 **See you on Thursday and thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
** **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.**

* * *

 **Wednesday, March 14, 1956  
** **11:24 PM**

"Mr. Cullen?" Slick snaps his fingers in my face, jarring me from my thoughts.

"Sorry about that." I flick Diego's picture. "I can't help you, fellas."

"Of course you can't," Glasses says, folding his hands in front of him. "Our records indicate that you spent some time in Cuba prior to your return to Chicago in 1954. Is that correct?"

I give a curt nod.

"What were you doing down there?"

"Just visiting."

"Visiting, huh?" Slick sneers.

"What can I say, Slick? I love cigars and girls in swimsuits."

"Yeah, I'm sure you do, you—"

"So what made you decide to come home?" Glasses interrupts, holding his hand out to his partner, essentially telling him to 'cool it.'

I shrug. "My cousin was getting married so I figured why not."

* * *

 **July 1954**

Three hours after the rehearsal dinner, the guys and I are in the back room of a club on Rush with a handful of blondes in various states of undress.

"Look at this one," Emmett says, pointing to Paulie who's got a set of tits in his face and another broad's hand down his pants. "Fuckin' skirt chaser over there."

"How 'bout your driver?" I tip my drink in Big Ben's direction. "Looks like he's never seen a pussy up close."

Em laughs. "He's earned it though." He slides forward in his seat and yells at his driver who's getting straddled on the couch across from us. "You earned it, Benny boy. Guardin' that car all night." That porky prick glares at me which makes Emmett laugh even harder. "C'mon, don't be like that, big guy."

"Can I get you boys anything?" A tall blonde wearing tassels and a smile asks, bending down so her cans are level with Em's eyes.

"Yeah, sweetheart. How about you run and fetch us a bottle of scotch?"

She makes a show of pressing her tits together. "Anything else, Mr. Cullen?"

He hands her a bill and waves her off, briefly watching her ass sway before turning back to me. "So how was Havana, huh?"

"Eh, it was okay. I didn't mind bein' out there." I light a smoke and lean back in my seat. "Why? You lookin' to get into the game down there?"

Shaking his head, he mimics my position. "Nah, just curious how the past four years were for you."

I take a deep pull. "It was fine, I guess. I laid low for a while, then your dad sent me to see Momo."

"How was that?"

"I learned a lot. Momo had me doin' collections and running a few floating craps and some high limit poker games. Met a few associates here and there. All in all, I can't complain."

Tassels brings the scotch and makes herself scarce again when Em stands abruptly. "Follow me."

"Where we headed?"

"Somewhere without ears."

He leads me to a roof access door and we climb the stairs until we're four stories above Rush Street, looking out at the city. Em unscrews the cap and tosses it over the side of the building before taking a huge swig. "There are big changes comin' for us, Eddie."

"Yeah?"

He points to the skyline. "All this is gonna be ours."

I say nothing, letting him go on with the crazy talk.

"And it's all because of you." He comes towards me and grabs the back of my neck. "You ballsy motherfucker, you." Pulling me close, he lowers his voice, "I know what you did."

"You do?"

Em nods. "Dad said you did the hit. I mean, he didn't go into detail, but you know."

"Yeah, well …" I trail off and snuff out my cig as memories from the night I put two slugs in that bastard's skull flood my mind. "It had to be done."

"It was fuckin' brilliant," Em muses, offering the bottle to me. "You weren't even an associate at the time."

"Nope," I say with a laugh, thinking about how I was just some spoiled prick barely out of college. "That's probably why no one suspected."

"No one did." He steps close to the ledge. "It made sense at the time when my dad said he got you out of here for your safety. He told the rest of the crew that you left for school then went to help him with his interests in Havana."

"Ma said he sent her and Es to the ol' country for a while."

"Yep." He looks out over the street. "This place went up for grabs, Eddie. Paulie and Felix had a goddamn field day. Made real names for themselves."

"I'll bet they did."

We're quiet for a bit, staring out into the city listening to the trains and sirens in the distance and the bustling traffic coming from the street below.

"Did you want to be the one who did it?"

"Yeah, I think so. I don't know. It was so fucked up, man," I say before striking a match and lighting another cigarette. "We were down at the morgue, ID'ing the body. My ma was goin' wild, just losin' it. But Uncle C, man, he was just…" I'm at a loss for words letting the smoke billow out of my mouth. "Next thing I know, your dad's pulling me into an office, saying they've got the guy who did it, and offering me the opportunity to handle it."

Em nods, knowing that my father never wanted me to end up in the family business. "So you stepped up?"

"Yeah." I hold up two fingers. "Your dad made two phone calls from the coroner's office. The first was to Philly to confirm who pulled the trigger."

"And the second?"

My lips curl into a sick smile. "The second person he called was Chopper."

"Chopper? Old man Aro?"

"Yep." I take another drag. "The night of the wake, we left the funeral home, met up with Chopper at the back of the Yards."

"No shit?"

"No shit, man. Chopper had that greasy fuck hogtied on the slaughterhouse floor. Your dad handed me a .22, I pulled the trigger and that was that." I shrug, feeling no remorse for my actions. No regret. No nothing.

"Sounds like a pretty standard hit. I heard some wild shit though."

Laughing, I lean forward and reach for the bottle, knowing exactly what wild shit he's talking about. "That's where your dad and Chopper come in."

Thinking back to that night, I remember Chopper standing over the body in a rubber apron with the sounds of cattle waiting for the slaughter all around us. It's funny now, but I can still see them casually discussing the pros and cons of just disposing of the body versus sending a message to those in the guy's crew.

"It would've been so easy to throw that guy in a barrel and toss him into Lake Michigan, but your dad was out of his mind. In control, but you know, kinda wacko, right? So anyway, Chopper goes to his car, comes back with this bag and he pulls out all this equipment. And your dad's pointin' to body parts, tellin' him who and where he should send each to." Em's eyes get big. "So Chopper gets to choppin', right? And just as we go to leave, he stops us."

"What for?"

"This guy, with a straight-fucking-face mind you, asks Uncle C..." I laugh, recalling Chopper's question. "He goes, 'hey, which part you want me to send to his missus – balls, heart, or head?' Your dad let him choose."

"That's messed up."

"It was. But what's more fucked up is that I still wanna know which part he sent her."

Em spends the next few hours filling in the gaps, telling me all about what went down while I was gone all those years. We empty the bottle going back and forth as I listen to who killed who, who heads up what now and a coded rundown of who's who in the family.

"The books are probably gonna be openin' up soon," Em says, looking at me to gauge my reaction at hearing that the family will be bringing in new members.

I don't comment since I'm probably not eligible because I haven't made my bones yet. At least none that anyone can know about. Instead I redirect. "What's the story with blondie, huh? How'd you two meet?"

"It was an odd coincidence, actually. Her father's some big wig at the Board of Trade and her uncle is an alderman up in the 49th ward. My old man's been rubbing elbows with her family for years. Anyway, last year dad's lung was actin' up so I escorted my ma' to some charity function at the opera house. Rose's father introduced us, and we've been together ever since."

"Does she know about …" I wind my fingers around never saying this thing of ours aloud.

Nodding his head, he takes a big gulp, swallowing loudly. "She knows enough not to ask, but don't let the blonde hair and blue eyes fool you. She's a fuckin' shark. Doesn't take any shit."

"You _would_ end up with a man-eater."

Squinting, he lights up a cigar, and then grabs his dick. "I've got somethin' for her to eat."

* * *

The next night, my uncle is leading me around Em's wedding reception at The Drake, re-introducing me to a bunch of my father's old associates.

"Here we go," Carlisle says, waving his hand over a table of old timers. "You remember these wise guys, don't ya'?" He doesn't let me answer, clapping Philly Neri on the back. "Philly, you remember Edward, right?"

"Of course," that skinny bastard booms, coming at me with his arms wide open like we're old pals. "Long time, kiddo. How you been?"

 _Fuck you_. "I'm all right, Philly."

"And this handsome fucker here," Carlisle pats the face of the guy to his right, "this is Philly's son, Mikey Neri."

He gives me a nod and a shake. Em says they call this cat 'Handsome Mike' or something. Paulie and Felix hate him, and Em says he's a bit of a prick, but he's a hell of an earner so that gets him a pass, I suppose.

I don't know. I just don't like the look of him. And I hate his old man, so that's strike two.

The introductions come faster now and I'm thankful for all the nicknames to keep them straight. There's Joey "Nickels" because his face looks like it got beat with a bag of them. Then we have Sammy "Teets" Uley because he's got a bit of a rack on him. And finally, there's Frankie 'Big Features' because he barely has enough room for a face with the size of that nose.

"So Eddie, what's it been? Four? Five years, now?" Philly asks jerking his chin in my direction.

I've got a 'go fuck yourself' on the tip of my tongue, but before I can open my mouth, his kid's asking me where I've been, and what I've been up to.

My uncle is quick to answer for me with the canned story Em told me last night. "He went and got his masters down at Georgetown before heading down to oversee my gaming interests in Havana."

"Georgetown, huh?" Philly asks, sounding a little too suspicious for my liking.

The corner of my mouth turns up, but Carlisle cuts in again. "You know how Ed was real big on this one's education."

"Of course," Philly says. "Your old man was always braggin' on ya' bein' a smart one."

"Real proud," my uncle agrees. "All right boys, we're gonna go grab a couple of drinks, then I've gotta get a dance in with my new daughter-in-law."

I bow my head to the table. "Gentlemen."

When we get to the bar I give Carlisle a look as he orders up a round of shots. "Georgetown?"

He waves me off. "I've got Jay Jenks on it, gettin' you the documentation and payin' the right people to vouch for you. And besides, your dad always liked the idea of you in Washington."

I laugh. "Dad also liked the idea of me playing short-stop for the Cubs, doesn't make it plausible."

My uncle shrugs. "Come Monday you'll see why it's plausible."

"What's Monday?"

"Imma send Sal over to pick you up on Monday morning, eight o'clock sharp. He'll bring you out to my place, we'll have breakfast with your aunt, and then I have some … opportunities I'd like to discuss with you."

"Opportunities?"

Nodding, he coughs into his handkerchief before stuffing it back in his pocket and picking up his shot glass.

I raise mine too, and toast his health. "Alla tua salute."

We shoot our drinks which brings on another coughing fit.

"Damn that burns," he says, holding his chest. Behind him, I notice Bella sitting at her table, watching couples sway on the dance floor. Carlisle follows my eyes and gives me a smirk.

"Looks like you've gotta get a dance in too, huh?"

I pat him on the back. "Thanks for the drink."

"Don't forget, eight sharp."

"I won't."

Bella spots me as I cross the floor, a smile playing at her lips.

"There you are," I say, making my way around her table.

"Here I am." Straightening in her seat, she takes a sip of her water.

"Can I sit down?"

She pats the chair next to her. "Be my guest."

"I would've been over sooner, but my uncle wanted to reacquaint me with some folks."

"I saw that. You were all over the place, shaking hands, kissing babies." I snicker and watch her hold back a laugh by dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin. "So … are you trying to escape your matchmakers again?"

"No, my main matchmaker is otherwise occupied at the moment," I say, pointing to my mother who is being twirled around the dance floor by Chopper … Aro, whatever. "What about you? Your date getting you a piece of cake or something?"

"Ha! If I had a date, I definitely wouldn't be sitting here admiring the centerpieces," she says, winding a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

She looks beautiful sitting there all dolled up with her hair pinned and off her shoulders and face. Big brown eyes gaze back at me and I half expect her to call me on my ogling, but she doesn't. Instead she just runs her teeth over her red-stained lips and grins knowingly.

"I suppose that's true," I finally say, pulling my eyes away before they go any lower.

We sit and bullshit for a bit, talking about random things like the ceremony and how she and Rosalie go all the way back to grammar school. I start to wonder if I'm swimming with a shark myself.

Humming softly, she moves to the music, mouthing the lyrics to the song every now and again. When she catches me staring again, she doesn't blush or seem embarrassed.

"You like this song?"

"I do."

I'm not familiar with the song, and truthfully if it doesn't involve the mambo or the conga, I probably don't know it. I offer her my hand. "Dance with me?"

Placing her napkin on the table, she smiles brightly. "I thought you'd never ask."

I lead her to the middle of the floor, ignoring the prying eyes of my mother and ball-breaking gesture from Paulie. As I go to place my hand on her waist, I remember Father Francis always coming around at school dances, telling us to leave room for the Holy Ghost. _Not today, Father Francis, not today._

She doesn't seem to mind when I pull her close, resting her hand on my shoulder, nearly cupping my neck while her other hand slips softly into mine, tightly entwining our fingers together.

"So …" I start, smirking down at her and she smirks right back.

"So … you said your uncle was reacquainting you with some old friends. Have you been away?"

I chuckle, albeit a little uncomfortably. "Somethin' like that."

"How long have you been gone?"

"Four years or so."

She whistles low. "That's an awful long time."

Hoping she doesn't question me further, I open my mouth to speak but she blurts out the question I wished she wouldn't.

"Where have you been?"

"Here and there."

"Here and there, huh? What is it you _do_ exactly?"

My eyes narrow. "You writin' a book or somethin'? What's with all the questions?"

"It's just a question."

"Feels more like an interrogation."

"Well, how else am I supposed to get to know you?" she asks, her brow lifting slightly in challenge.

"How about a date?"

"A date …" Somehow the way she says it makes it sound like both a question and a statement.

"Yeah. Lemme take you out."

"You want to take me out, but you can't give me a straight answer when I ask you a question?"

"Stop being so childish, what are you, ten?"

"No, I'm twenty. See how that works, you ask, I answer, though I have to say it's rude to ask a lady her age." We stop swaying. "So let's try this again, I'll ask you a question, you answer. How old are _you_?"

"Twenty-six."

"See, not so hard, is it?"

"Not really, I just don't get why we have to play the twenty questions game."

She shrugs and we begin to move again. "I don't know, I guess I'm trying to get a better sense of you with the little bits and pieces you've given me thus far."

"Bits and pieces," I scoff, though I know I haven't been terribly forthcoming. The truth is I have no idea what to tell her. Right now I'm a grown man, crashing at my mom's place with a single job prospect that probably isn't on the up and up. I highly doubt she'll be too impressed with my resume from Cuba either.

"Bits and pieces," she says before clarifying, "little bits here, little bits there. It just seems like there's a lot you don't want me to know."

"Listen," I say, sounding like a bit of a dick. "I wanna take you out, but I'm not interested in having you break my balls."

"Good," she bites back, "because I assure you, I'm not interested in your balls."

We glare at each other for a few moments as the song ends and the band strikes up a faster number. There's no sign of surrender on her face which both fascinates and infuriates me, so I bring her hand to my lips.

"Thank you for the dance." She looks stunned when I take a few steps back. "Your move now, Bitsy. Come find me if you want to take me up on my offer."

* * *

 **A/N: So great to see so many familiar names pop up in my inbox. You guys make this so much fun!**

 **Thanks so much for all the great WIP recs! Sounds like there are lots of good ones out there. I took a look at one that's a New Moon twist and by twist I mean it's Rosalie POV. Fun fact - Rosalie is my boo for real - hands down my fave character of the Twilight Saga #teamrose4life. If you haven't already, give this one a go and let it WIP.**

 **What Have We Done by ladylibre - Fed up with her family's mourning since leaving Bella behind, Rosalie returns to Forks to prove that the stupid human is just fine without them. But what she finds is not what she expected. And that will not do. **A canon-based, drabblish AU New Moon fic.**

 **See you guys Thursday! Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd or lurked this fic!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
** **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **Wednesday, March 14, 1956** **  
** **11:27 AM**

Glasses shuffles through his papers while Slick just glares at me for being so uncooperative after several minutes of silence.

"So it looks like you hit the ground running once you got here, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"What he means, Mr. Cullen," Slick says, leaning forward in his seat. "Is that you didn't waste any time making a name for yourself once you got here." I raise a brow in question. "A job on paper and reputation in the streets."

Shaking my head, I chuckle a bit.

Slick's eyes narrow. "How'd you do it? How'd a nobody like you move up so fast in the ranks?"

* * *

 **July 1954**

Much to my surprise, Bella doesn't come find me. As a matter of fact, she doesn't even leave the dance floor for a few more songs, first dancing with Emmett, then some old fogey with a mustache. Like a sucker, I stick around thinking she'll see the error of her ways. Instead, I end up hanging out at the bar drinking with Felix while we listen to some of the old timers tell stories about my father and the good old days.

I catch her eye at the end of the night as we send the newlyweds off. Raising my glass, I toast her from the bar and she gives me a wry smile before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Monday morning rolls around and Sal picks me up to take me out to my uncle's place in the 'burbs. There's no doubt my uncle's worth millions, but like my dad, he's smart and keeps a relatively low profile.

These days he's living in a two story brick house in a quiet neighborhood in River Forest. The house isn't showy or flashy. It's modest and nice and probably right in line with what he's claiming to make on his tax forms.

Aunt Es and I catch up over breakfast while she force feeds me ridiculous amounts of prosciutto and eggs. I'm almost impressed by her restraint when she waits until I'm nearly done with my second plate to bring up Bella.

"So I saw you talking to Isabella Swan at the reception," she says casually, pouring my uncle more coffee.

"Es," he chides, shaking his head.

"What? She's a nice girl. That's all I was gonna tell him." She rounds the table and tops mine off as well. "Didn't you think she was nice, Edward?"

Nodding, I shove some food in my mouth so I don't have to participate in this conversation.

"You two make a good looking couple, and she's such a lovely girl."

"I'm sure she is, but uh, it was just a dance, Aunt Es."

"Oh…" She sounds surprised. "Well your mother and I ran into her in the ladies lounge and she seemed to be quite taken with you."

 _I wonder if that's before or after our dance floor discussion._

"What'd you two do, shake her down?" Carlisle jokes, nudging her as she passes.

"Of course not."

He laughs. "Did Tonia take down the names of her grandparents to trace 'em back to the ol' country?"

After a short hesitation she answers, "Don't be silly. Edward, can I get you anything else?"

"No, we're good," Carlisle cuts in. "Come on, let's head out before she talks you into invitin' the poor girl to dinner." He stands and kisses her on the cheek. "Delicious as always, Es."

"Yes, thank you," I say, standing and finishing off my coffee before hugging her goodbye. Smoothing my hair, I slip my hat onto my head as we walk to the car. "What's on the agenda today?"

Sally opens the car door and hands Carlisle a newspaper. "We're headed to my office so we can get you a job, son."

* * *

An hour with human resources and two stacks of paperwork later, I'm hired on at the Chicago & North Western Transportation Company as a Compliance Officer. The gig comes with a salary and a few fringe benefits, the biggest one being it's legal. I'll only come into the office a couple days a week, show my face and sign a few papers here and there so it looks legit.

We step into the elevator and Carlisle acknowledges the elevator operator, letting him know we need to get up to the fifteenth floor before turning to me. "The board meets once a month or as needed. We have a meeting next week. You'll want to be there. Get acquainted."

"Fifteen, sir," the operator says, opening the doors.

"This will be your office right over here. We'll get you a secretary soon, but for now you can share with one of the other guys on the floor." He opens the door to a small room with a desk and a large window and motions for me to enter. "Nice view, huh?"

I toss my hat on the desk, looking out over the city. "Definitely."

"So," he says, shutting the door and taking a seat on a chair in the corner. "Let's talk business. You probably already know that I've been keepin' tabs on you."

"I figured."

"Momo would report back each week sayin' you were a hell of an earner, but above all you were smart."

I slip my hands in my pockets, but remain silent.

"You've got a good head for business, kid. Figurin' out the angles and such. Not only that, you were respected among his associates and you always kept your cool when things got sticky." He places his hat on the arm of his chair and presses his hands together. "Your father, you know he didn't want this life for you. So I'm askin' _you_ , what do you want for yourself?"

 _Good question. What do I want?_

"I want the good life," I say, remembering my father's words. "Money rollin' in steady, a place to call my own, and the love of a good woman." Carlisle laughs, knowing who I'm quoting. "By any means necessary."

"Good to hear, 'cause I've got plans for you and that level head of yours." Striking a match, he lights up and waves the stick around before speaking again. "Lemme ask you a question. You saw how Emmett handled those pricks the other night, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"How do you think he handled that? What was your overall impression?"

"Are you askin' for strengths and weaknesses, here?"

"Precisely. Let's start with strengths."

"I've known him his whole life; he's got tons of strengths."

"Be specific."

"Em's smart, you know, able to read people and situations well. Good intuition." I tap my temple. "He's got his head on straight and his priorities are in the right place. From what I can tell he's a great leader and has the respect of his capos and other crews which is usually the hard part, right?"

Carlisle smirks and crosses his ankle over his knee. "Very difficult. Now how about his weaknesses?"

I clear my throat. "May I speak frankly?"

"Of course."

"He's a hothead. It takes almost nothing to set him off and that can be a real problem for the organization."

"Go on."

"He doesn't think things through when he's like that. It clouds his judgment – could lead to some pretty bad decisions."

"What else?"

"He's got tells. Clenched fists, raised voice … I don't know. It's easy to see when you get a rise out of him." Nodding, Carlisle seems pleased. "He's gotta get that shit under control along with keeping it together where his wife is concerned."

"What do you mean?"

"He's wound especially tight about that one. Could pose a real problem if someone was disrespectful – as it should – but I don't know if he'd be able to restrain himself before reacting."

Smiling, Carlisle rubs his jaw. "Suppose I were to tell you that I plan on shaking things up around here. Philly's gotta go and I don't know how many years I got left with this lung that's gettin' worse and worse. I wanna be … what's the word?" He snaps his fingers. "Proactive."

"You want Em to take your spot?"

"Eventually. I'm thinking about moving him up to Front Boss. Let him be the face. Take the reins without taking the reins so to speak."

Our thing is a bit different than your standard set-up. We've got your typical hierarchy with the boss, underboss, capos, advisor and soldiers, however, shortly after Capone's time, they came up with the position of a front boss. It takes the heat off the big boss and distracts law enforcement. Not a lot of real power, but still a highly respected position to have in the ranks. Right now, the current front boss is sitting in a penitentiary down in Southern Illinois, looking at 10 to 25 years for a multitude of charges. It makes sense to move Emmett up from underboss.

"All due respect, Uncle C. What's that gotta do with me?"

"I'd like for you to provide counsel to him. Be the voice of reason and keep him focused. Help him make sound decisions."

"Like a consigliere?"

"Like _the_ consigliere." He leans forward. "Between you and me, I rarely discuss business with Philly anymore. Apart from becoming a liability, I find that he's advising with his own interests in mind. He's got a bad rap with some of the politicians and power players in the city. And I can't have that with the mayoral election coming up. I need new blood, son." He pauses, chuckling and circling his face with a finger. "We need a clean face for our dirty hands if you know what I mean."

"Uncle C, I don't—"

Holding his hands up, he interrupts. "You don't have to answer today, you've got time. Not only that but we've gotta get you in the books and you know what that means, don't you?" He arranges his fingers to look like a gun, reminding me that I've gotta make my bones legitimately. If anyone finds out I popped a made guy, I'd be dead within a day.

"I do."

"Good. So in the meantime, you need to shadow the capos. Meet the soldiers, learn their names, who's who and what do they do kinda thing. I'm gonna have you go with Felix for the next few weeks."

"Sounds good."

"Let's keep this between us."

"Absolutely."

"Promise me you'll think about it."

"I don't have to think about it. I'm in – I'm just worried that some in the organization will find me undeserving of this."

"Eh. There are always gonna be those pricks that bitch and moan. Fuck 'em and let me worry about that." Standing, he waves his hand motioning for us to leave. "Come on. Let's grab some coffee then go get you settled. Felix has a few apartments available if you're interested."

"Definitely – anything to get me outta my mother's house."

* * *

"Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, one-hundred even from The Midget Club," I say aloud, making a slash mark in the books recording the collections Felix and I picked up today.

Felix silently counts his and holds up two fingers. "Two-hundred, Ricobenes. And I gotta take a shit." He flicks my newspaper. "You done with this?"

I nod, writing down his count and grabbing my smokes. Music filters in from the front of the club as Paulie comes through the door with a bag of beef sandwiches.

"How'd it go today?"

"Pretty smooth."

"No deadbeats?" he asks, tossing me a sandwich before opening one for himself.

"Nah."

"So no beatings, huh?"

I laugh at how disappointed he sounds. "Not yet."

"Potential beatings?"

Before I can answer, the phone rings.

"Grab that!" Felix yells from the can.

Paulie's got a mouthful of beef so I answer. "Black Orchid."

"Eddie?" Emmett responds, sounding surprised.

"Yeah, it's me. How's Acapulco?"

"Hot as hell."

"Married life treatin' you well?"

"Ha! Yeah it is. The missus is restin' as we speak. What's goin' on there?"

"Eh, this and that. I'm with Felix this week, learnin' the ropes."

"Anything I need to know about?"

"Lemme check." I cradle the phone into my shoulder and call out to Felix. "You got anything you need Em to know?"

"Tell him about that union delegate and the sticky fingered fuck from Cicero."

"Got it," I yell before speaking back into the phone. "We had a bit of miscommunication with one of the pipefitter union delegates this week. He apparently has amnesia on the talk our associates had with his people last month. I think we may need to clarify our position."

He's quiet for a bit. "Tell Paulie to handle it just like he did with the last one that had the same hearing problem."

"Have Paulie take care of it, got it." I jerk my head at Paulie and he nods, knowing what's expected of him. "We've also caught a guy with his hand in the offering. Robbing Peter and not payin' Paul so to speak."

"You handle it. Take him to church if you want." He laughs at himself. "That all?"

Hesitating, I eye Paulie to make sure he's not listening. "I was gonna wait for you to get back." I drop my voice and pull the receiver closer to my mouth. "Just, uh… that girl from the wedding, Bella or whatever."

"What about her?"

"I was wantin' to get in touch with her."

"Rosie?" Em yells away from the phone. "Rosie?" He comes back to the line. "She must be sleepin' or ignorin' me already. I'm pretty sure Bella's over at University of Chicago Hospital when she's not in class. Doing rotations or somethin' like that. When Rosie wakes up, I can –"

"No, no, don't bother. I'll, uh, figure it out. But thanks. Did you need to talk to Paulie before I let you go?"

"Yeah, lemme talk to him for a minute."

I hand Paulie the phone, thankful that he's momentarily distracted from the ball-breaking I deserve. Admittedly, I'm a little surprised I'm still even thinking about her a whole week and a half later, but she definitely seems to have left an impression. Who knows, maybe it's my pride or the fact that she called my bluff, but as far as I'm concerned, Bitsy and I have some unfinished business.

* * *

Two days later, Felix and I are taking Collin for a ride under the pretense of new opportunities for him and his crew. Collin is the slick little fucker who's been helping himself to our profits. Felix is shooting the shit with him, real casual, like they're old buddies; meanwhile I've got plans for this cat.

We pull into a spot behind Felix's club, and I get out and hold the car door open for our guest.

"Thanks," Collin says, gripping the roof to slide out.

As he does, I slam the door on his hand as hard as I can. He screams when I pull him out of the car by his greasy pompadour and winces when he sees his now mangled hand.

"You got sticky fingers, kid?" I yell in his face and he shakes his head furiously, denying it right to the ground. "Oh, I think you do."

"No! I swear, Mr. Cullen."

"You sure? You positive you didn't take somethin' that wasn't yours?"

He denies it for a third time like the Judas he is, so I slam the door on his hand three more times hearing bones crack and watching his fingers turn purple from the trapped blood as he grunts and shrieks with each strike.

"OKAY! OKAY! FUCK!"

"You did, didn't you?"

With watery eyes, he stutters out his confession. "I took some. Just a little off of the top. I'm s-s-sorry."

"I'll bet you are." I laugh, clapping him on the back before I slam the door once more.

"AAH! I already told you!"

I get in his face, speaking low through clenched teeth. "I want this to serve as a reminder to you." I lift his hand. "Anytime you wipe your ass, eat your food, touch your girl – I want you to be reminded of what you did and who you did it to, you understand me?"

Gasping, he pulls his hand to his body, slinking down to the ground. "I understand."

I squat down to eye level. "You're gonna pay back every fuckin' penny, you hear me? Felix will work out the schedule, but I swear to God if I ever hear of you bein' short, late, or step one toe outta line…" I shake my head, letting that hang there so he can guess all the fucked up ways I can kill him.

Felix hands him a towel and pulls him up from the ground, pushing him into the car. "You bleed on my seat, _I'll_ kill you."

I slip into the back seat, straightening my clothes and hat. "Can we run an errand real quick?"

"Yep," Felix says, pulling back out into the street. "Where to?"

"University of Chicago Hospital."

We pull into the emergency room parking lot, and I help our friend out of the car like we're best pals, nice and easy while Felix looks on laughing.

"Now listen." I grab his bad hand like I'm shaking it and squeeze. "You go back to that degenerate group of lowlifes you call a crew. Show 'em this. Tell 'em what we do when people fuck with our money. This is just a taste, kid. If there's a next time, they'll be pullin' your body out of a sewer. You hear me?"

"Yeah," he mutters low under his breath.

I cup my ear. "What was that?"

"Yes … sir."

"That's what I thought you said. Now get back in the car."

"But ..." He motions towards the hospital.

"Oh, you thought we were gonna stitch you up? You hear that Felix? He thought we were gonna get him medical attention."

"Get in, you pussy!" Felix yells, honking the horn making Collin jump.

I'll be surprised if Felix lets him live long enough to show his crew my handiwork.

* * *

Once inside, I hit up the gift shop and grab a small bouquet of flowers before making my way up to surgery where the overly helpful and flirtatious nurse manager told me Bitsy would be working this week.

When the elevator doors open, I see her standing at the nurse's desk, chatting and laughing with an older woman looking every bit as gorgeous as I remember. Stepping forward, I take a deep breath and paste on the arrogant smile that she probably wishes she could forget. "Excuse me, Bella?"

Surprised, she turns to me and gives me a cocky smirk of her own, and I can't tell if she's happy to see me or just knew I'd be coming eventually. "Edward… hello."

 _Maybe this will be easier than I thought_. "Hey."

"Are you visiting someone?" she asks, her voice professional and unaffected.

"I'm actually here to see you, if you've got a few minutes." I eye the nosy old lady enjoying the show.

Looking at her watch, Bella gestures towards the atrium. "Patty, I'll just be a moment."

"Take your time, sweetheart."

Once we're further down the hallway she stops, wrapping her arms around her waist. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Uh," I start, handing her the flowers. "These are for you, I just wanted to come by and apologize. I didn't like how we left things." Tentatively, she takes the bouquet, saying nothing for several moments and looking on expectantly. "Just lemme get the chance to make it up to you, yeah? I'll take you out and you can ask me anything you like."

Staring at the flowers, she looks unconvinced. "Edward, I –"

"Listen," I say, stepping forward and dipping my head to meet her eyes. "You wanna know why I didn't answer your questions – it's 'cause I couldn't. I had just got back into town, no job, no place of my own, and a girl like you wouldn't go for a bum like that, right?" She opens her mouth to object. "But I got it covered now. Got myself a good job with the railroad and a place in the city."

Chewing her lip, she eyes the flowers again like she's debating something.

I tip up her chin. "What are you thinkin', Bitsy?"

"You were … away for a while?"

Her question hangs there for a moment, and I laugh when I realize what she's getting at. "Oh is that what you're curious about?" She looks away, but I can tell her interest is clearly piqued so I lower my voice and lean in. "You wanna know if I was doin' time, don't cha?"

Nervously she nods then backpedals. "If you're not comfortable telling me, you don't have to."

Shaking my head, I smile widely at her. "No, Bits. No jail time for me. I graduated from Northwestern then left for Georgetown to get my master's. Even though I studied political science, I wasn't convinced that politics was my thing, so I traveled a bit before taking up a hospitality gig in Havana."

 _It's almost scary how easy the lie slips off my tongue._

"Cuba?"

"I'm happy to tell you all about it," I offer motioning between us, "You and me, Friday night. I'll take you out for dinner and a night on the town."

She peers behind me and shakes her head. "I can't Friday night."

"Plans?" I ask, following her eyes to a blond fella in some kind of white uniform scowling at us from an operating room window.

"Yeah."

I jerk my thumb in his direction as I look back at her. "With the male nurse?"

She grins. "Dr. Connor is a surgeon."

 _Fuck me_. "I see. I didn't realize you were already spoken for."

Grabbing my forearm, she squeezes slightly. "I'm not. It's something here at the hospital, and it's hardly a date."

"Does Florence Nightingale know that?"

"I think so … but maybe Saturday afternoon we … you and I could …" Shrugging, she averts her eyes. "I don't know maybe check out the concert at Ravinia."

Amused, I smile, slipping my hands into my pockets. "The symphony in the park?"

"Yes. I could make us food," she offers. "Like a picnic."

"I'll bring the wine."

"Sounds like we have a date then."

"Definitely a date." I lean in, brushing my lips against her ear, lingering a bit, but knowing full well what it looks like to the chump behind me. Closing her eyes, she inhales deeply when I let her know that I'm looking forward to it. " _Non vedo l'ora."  
_

* * *

 **A/N: *rubs hands together* Time for Edward to get his woo on.**

 **So Carrie ZM and I were on the phone the other night and we got on the subject of kink. Don't ask, we're weird. Anyway, we were talking about fics that registered high on our kink-o-meter, in the best way of course. So tonight - we're bringing the kink and asking that you return the favor. It doesn't have to be a WIP, but what's your kinky pleasure fic?**

 **When We Meet by Minnie Soleil - The things we do when we meet. A tale about a leather belt and the occasional cotton candy. *Lay dabs a cool cloth on her forehead to ward off the vapors* This one's kinkier than a cheap garden hose, pals.**

 **A Taste of Honey by Soapymayhem - Ex-Senator Edward Cullen has denied himself the pleasure of living the BDSM lifestyle for years now. Shortly after deciding to seek a new sub, he meets artist Isabella Swan in the most unexpected place – her high-school graduation! *Carrie ZM dreamy sighs at Olderward* YOWZA! Check it out on Stars b/c it's been pulled from FF.**

 **Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted, or lurked this fic! I'll see you next Thursday!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
** **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **Wednesday, March 14, 1956**

 **11:32 PM**

"How about James Callahan?" Glasses pushes his specks up. "Name sound familiar?"

"Nope."

He tilts his head. "Also went by Jimmy or Jimmy "Two Tons" to his associates."

I lean back in my seat. "I'm not familiar with anyone by those names."

Slick's knee is bouncing beneath the table and he's pinching the bridge of his nose, getting more aggravated by the second.

"How about now?" Glasses pulls out a mug shot and the cold, blue eyes of a smiling Jimmy Callahan stare back at me.

* * *

 **July 1954**

"Is this new?" Bella asks, running her finger along the chrome of my new Mercury Monterey convertible while I hold the door open for her and God as my witness, I try my hardest not to check out her rack when she slips into her seat.

"Just got it yesterday." I bought it for a song from some poor schmuck car dealership owner who owes Felix a few grand.

"It's beautiful."

"So are you." I close her car door and watch the blush creep up her cheeks. "You okay with me leaving the top down?"

"Sure, let me just find my sunglasses," she says, which surprises me because most chicks are funny about messing up their hair. By the time I get the ice chest in the back and slide into the car, she's digging through her pocketbook and sighing loudly.

"Did you forget them?" She nods, and I pull my Ray-Bans off. "You can wear mine."

They're a bit big on her, but she smiles and wags the shades up and down on her face as I start the car. "How do I look?"

 _Young_. She looks real young and fun and far too innocent for what I'd like to do with her. "Still beautiful."

Sliding the glasses down her nose, she gives me a wink. "Do I look like a movie star?"

I shake my head. "Movie stars have nothing on you, Bits."

Blushing again, she looks at her hands before reaching for the radio dial and tuning until she finds a station she likes. "Ooh, I love this song."

"What is this … song?" I catch myself, almost slipping and calling her music shit.

Shimmying in her seat, she grins at me. "Shake, Rattle and Roll." I stare blankly. "This song is the _most_."

"If you say so."

"What? You don't like this music?"

Somehow I think it might spoil the date if I tell her that this is garbage, not music, so I choose to keep my mouth shut and just drive. This works for about a block, when she turns down the radio and I feel her poke my arm.

"What?"

"Are you a square or something?"

"Me?" I ask incredulously, doing a double take to see if she's serious with that. "I'm no square."

Laughing, she reaches for the dial again and turns the so-called music back up. "If you say so."

 _Like I said – young.  
_

* * *

"Madonna mi," I groan, closing my eyes and lying back on the blanket after lunch with my head resting just above her knees. "My stomach's going to burst, but that was stupendous, Bits."

She giggles. "You must've been starving."

I look up and lower my voice, although I don't think anyone can hear me over the sounds of the symphony in the park. "What? I'm serious."

Even squinting, it's hard to see her expression as she hovers above me with the sun filtering through the tree branches and shadowing her face until she slips my sunglasses over my eyes.

The corner of her mouth turns up and she deadpans, "It was a sandwich."

"It was delicious."

Humming, she runs her fingers through my hair. "Soppressata and mortadella with provolone really does it for you, huh?"

 _Just the sound of those words rolling off her tongue_. "You have no idea."

Truth is ... _she_ really does it for me. She's easy to talk to, smart, funny. The fact that she can put together a picnic spread that made me wonder if my mother had a hand in it is only a plus. Our upbringings couldn't be any different though with her growing up as daddy's little debutant, and me, the underworld's prodigal son. Even on paper, she's a Tribune society page feature, and I'm a Sun Times crime headline.

I'm not good for her, but I have a feeling we'd be spectacular together.

Her nails softly scratch my scalp. "Tell me about Cuba."

So I do. I tell her all about beautiful beaches and hot Havana nights at the Club Casablanca, but I leave out the stories of showgirls and gambling and stuffing bodies into huge sugar sacks for Momo. She gets star-struck when I tell her about all the famous people I've seen and the few I've met. I don't have the heart to tell her the circumstances I met them under since I doubt she'd want to know her favorite actor has a fondness for fast cars and even faster women.

"What about you? What's your tale, Nightingale?"

Grinning, she takes a quick swig of wine from the bottle and I apologize again for forgetting the wine glasses. Here I thought I was on the ball remembering the corkscrew, lucky for me she's a good sport about it. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

Smiling, she ruffles my hair. "Be more specific."

"Fine, what do you do for fun?"

"You mean besides fundraising for my father's re-election and keeping up with my mother's social calendar?"

"Yeah."

"Not much." She shrugs and takes another pull from the bottle. "Between nursing school and clinical rotations at the hospital, I don't have much of a social life these days."

"I don't believe that for a second, Bits. What about that doc castin' an eyeball at me from the operatin' room the other day?"

She laughs loud enough that we hear a few shushes from the people around us. "We didn't end up going after all." Quirking a brow, I wait for her to elaborate. "He thought maybe you were staking your claim."

I reach for her hand and gently slide my fingers between hers. "And what if I was?"

"Well," she muses with a smile as her eyes flicker from our joined hands to meet my gaze. "I think I'd like that."

* * *

"Now _this_ is music, Bits," I tell her, turning up the radio so she can hear it over the breeze off the lake whipping through the open windows. She sighs and nestles into my side as I put my arm back around her.

"Sinatra, huh?" Her fingers softly stroke mine against her shoulder. "I do like this one."

"Does that make you a square like me?"

I feel her body shake with quiet laughter and then her lips at my ear. "You're no square."

We take the long way home, cruising through downtown so she can show me her favorite spots and all the things that have changed since I've been gone. She's hardly subtle; squeezing my hand and giving me the eyes when she drops hints about the places she wants me to take her. Dinner, dancing, and nights on the town, she's letting me know that a girl like her needs to see and be seen.

"You'd love this place my buddy owns. It's a nightclub over on Rush," I say real casual and loll my head in her direction. "The Black Orchid?"

"I've always wanted to go."

"You've never been?" I nudge her arm to which she mouths a 'no' and shakes her head. "Well that's a shame, Bits. Looks like I'll have to take you there sometime."

Beaming now, she scoots closer. "I'd love that."

* * *

"Here we are," she says when we finally reach her building. Letting go of my arm, she steps up onto her stoop and fishes through her pocketbook for her keys. "I had a great time today."

"So did I." I step closer. "I'd like to do it again."

She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth. "Me too."

Before I can stop myself, the backs of my fingers are brushing her cheek and she's leaning into my touch.

"Good night," I whisper, inching closer until our foreheads are touching. I watch as her eyes flutter closed and those full pretty red lips slightly part.

Soft and slow, my mouth moves against hers, lingering longer and deepening with each pass. I pull back a little, not wanting to get too fresh. This girl's not like the others I've been with who were either looking for a handout or a leg up. She's a good girl – the kind you bring home to mom and make your wife.

Opening her eyes, she sweeps her tongue across her bottom lip then smiles. "Again," she breathes before rising up on her tiptoes and capturing my mouth once more. This time our lips are moving together in ways that are neither sweet, nor chaste and she's driving me wild, raking her fingers through my hair and gripping it tightly.

My hand slips down her back and snakes around her waist, pressing her firmly to me. Her body stiffens and I can't be sure if it's because she can feel all of me against her, or if she's embarrassed by the jokers from across the street, wolf-whistling and hollering at us.

This time she pulls away.

"I should probably go," she pants, tracing her thumb down my jaw. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

 _Mass, dinner with the family, maybe a ball game with my uncle_. "Nothing important, why?"

"I was thinking about maybe," she says, smoothing the back of my hair down, "going to North Avenue Beach tomorrow. Some of my friends are going to be there, but … "

"But?"

She toys with my collar for a moment before peeking up at me. "I think I'd like to spend more time with _you_."

I press a quick kiss to her lips. "Anything you want, Bitsy."

* * *

"Gentlemen," Uncle C greets us when he walks into Felix's club, flanked by Emmett and Sal.

It's Wednesday, his most and least favorite day of the week. Tribute comes in from all over the city. The capos stand to greet him with their fat envelopes in hand. Unfortunately, in addition to those envelopes, they also have issues to discuss with him.

Philly Neri doesn't stand. Instead he holds court with a bunch of fellas from McKinley Park. Lowlifes, really. None of them stand either; they just crowd the bar, laughing and talking loudly. That's blatant disrespect in my eyes.

I walk over to the bar to grab a drink for my uncle and me. Lou gives me a nod. He's an old timer who worked for my father. Now he tends bar for Felix in the afternoons and serves as a lookout on Wednesdays. "What can I get you, Eddie?"

"Two scotches."

"You got it."

Carlisle heads into the back room and snaps his fingers in Philly's direction to get his attention. Philly can barely conceal his murderous glare, his lips twisting into a tight line before rearranging his features to his normal smarmy smile.

I follow him into the room with my uncle, Emmett, and the rest of the capos and take a seat at the table. There are several conversations going on all around me, but my mind isn't here in this room, it's still on North Avenue Beach, rubbing Coppertone onto sun-kissed shoulders and sneaking smooches on a blanket in the sand.

Placing my hat on the top of my knee, I cross my leg and relax into the seat before checking my watch. Someone from Mrs. Cope's flower shop should be delivering a bouquet to Bella in the next few minutes. After meeting some of the people she runs around with, I figure I need to step up my game to keep her interested. Not that I'm intimidated by them, I just don't want her to think I can't compete with younger guys or the ones like her girlfriends date, who only drive imported cars and all have roman numerals behind their surnames.

"Let's get started," my uncle interrupts my thoughts, standing at the head of the table. "Any old business to discuss?"

Sammy raises two fingers and opens his mouth to speak, but Philly cuts him off abruptly. "Uh, no offense kid," he says to me, nodding towards the door. "This is a private meeting for ranking members only."

"I want him in on this." My uncle waves him off. "Go on, Sam."

But Philly doesn't relent. "All due respect, Carlisle. This ain't the place for–"

"Did I ask you?" Uncle C asks, spacing his words out condescendingly. "Did I request your counsel on this matter?"

"No. I'm just–"

Pissed now, my uncle dips his head in Philly's direction. "You're outta line."

Phil jerks his chin at me. "You even made your bones yet, kid?"

Leaning forward, I feel the predatory smile spread across my face, wanting the malicious intent of my words to be clear. "Not yet."

The words are barely out of my mouth before he's up on his feet, teeth bared and a menacing finger pointed in my direction. "You listen here, ya' little shit–"

"Sit down!" Uncle C orders, slamming his hand down on the table twice and motioning to Aro to help Philly find his seat. Glaring, Philly brushes Aro off and slumps down in his chair. "Where were we?"

Philly stews the entire meeting, staring at the amber-colored liquid in his glass through narrowed eyes. I want to laugh, but my uncle has me sitting in for a reason. I listen without speaking, watching, and learning the ins and outs of our thing. Once all new and old business is discussed, grievances are aired and beefs are squashed, we're dismissed, but not before each of the capos kick up tribute to Carlisle.

Philly's frown disappears when he gathers all the envelopes, piling them neatly in front of him. I stand to leave when I hear my uncle snap his fingers again.

"Give me and my nephew a minute, will ya', Phil?"

Philly motions to the money. "I gotta get this–"

"Edward will count it. Go grab a drink or two, and we'll sit down with the boys from McKinley Park in a bit." Phil shakes his head and pushes off the table, his chair loudly scraping across the floor, but he doesn't speak nor does he look at us. When he's gone, my uncle rounds the table and motions for me to sit back down. "You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

With a shrug, I side-step the question. "Like you said, he was outta line."

"He was, but that doesn't mean you can threaten him." He takes the seat beside me and steeples his fingers on the table. "Level with me, Edward. Do we have a problem here?"

Normally, I'd advise a non-ranking member to tread lightly and keep his fucking mouth shut. Too bad I don't follow my own advice. "Somethin' ain't right there, Uncle C."

"What do you mean?"

I lean in, speaking barely above a whisper. "You ever wonder if he had somethin' to do with it?"

Carlisle crosses arms over his chest and shakes his head a bit. "You sound just like Aro."

"I'm serious. I know he did." I tap my temple. "Think about it. How did he know who pulled the trigger? Huh? How did he get such a good look and not a scratch?" My uncle's tilts his head, seeming to consider my words. I poke my chest. "And then to sit there watchin' him at my father's funeral, actin' like people should bow down."

"Nah." He dismisses it, wagging his finger at me. "You got it all wrong. He loved your father and he made sure that we stomped out every single member of that crew."

"Of course he did, coverin' his ass."

Loud voices erupt from the bar and the door bursts open as Benny, Aro, and Sammy are restraining a livid Emmett and forcing him back into the room. My uncle and I are both on our feet in an instant, and I see his hand reaching for his piece.

"Lemme go! Lemme go!" Emmett yells, struggling against their hold. "Get the fuck off me!"

"You're dead! You're fuckin' dead, you bum!" I hear Paulie shouting before I see him when I rush into the bar. He's going just as wild as Em, but Felix has him pinned against the stage. He's seething, practically foaming at the mouth, staring down the large blond guy being dragged out the front door by Mikey and a few guys that were sitting by the bar.

"I'm right here," the blond taunts, laughing and waving for them to come get him even though he's already bleeding from his mouth and nose.

"Get him outta here!" Carlisle booms as he comes through the back room doors, holding his gun loosely at his side. He stands there until the riff-raff's gone, then turns to Paulie and Felix. "What the fuck happened in here?"

The doors from the back room slam open and a fuming Em stomps out, a finger pointed at Philly. "Name!" Backing up, Philly shows his palms. "Gimme his _fuckin'_ name!"

"Jimmy," Mikey answers for his father as he walks back into the bar. "That's Jimmy Callahan."

"Somebody better answer me!" My uncle's voice echoes throughout the space. "What the fuck happened?"

"He made a comment," Paulie pipes up from behind Felix. "About Em's missus." My uncle raises an eyebrow. "I happened to be closer, so I smacked him in the mouth a couple of times." I watch my uncle step forward to quietly confer with Paulie, his fists clenching and jaw tightening as he listens.

"Edward," Em calls, motioning for me to follow him into the back room. He sits at Felix's desk, opening and slamming drawers and growing more frustrated by the second. Furious when he can't find what he's looking for, he flips the desk and starts tossing everything in his path, cursing loudly.

I say nothing, just stand there and let him tear this place apart. The last time I saw Em like this was right after high school when he found out some punk got fresh with our younger cousin Angela. Em had Angela call the guy, make like she wanted to see him again. When the guy showed up for the date, Emmett met him at the door with a tire iron and a smile. My father and uncle were pissed they had to grease a few palms to make that little problem go away, but all in all they were impressed by my cousin's handiwork.

" _Dagli una lezione_ ," Carlisle calmly advises, walking into the room behind me and I couldn't agree more. Emmett needs to make an example of this prick.

Pacing now, Em nods slightly at his father's words and slams his fists down on the table. Struggling to compose himself, he drops his chin to his chest and rests his weight on his knuckles.

"Do you want Aro to pay him a visit?"

"No," Em grits out roughly. "Not Aro." He raises his head and I see a sinister grin stretch across his face. "You ready to make your bones, Eddie?"

* * *

 **A/N: Happy Birthday to my boo, beta, bestie – the lovely Carrie ZM.**

 **Tonight we have a couple fab fic recs  
**

 **Swifter Than the Stars by Belladonnacullen - *Carrie and Lay twirl 'round and 'round, fangirl flailing*** **Once upon a time there was a girl who met a boy. She didn't want to leave home. He never wanted to go back to his. Together they discover more about themselves than they ever could have imagined alone. About stars, science, souls and young love.**

 **The Siren's Curse by aushapasha - *Lay dons a seashell bra and dives in to this awesomeness* A crime. A curse. A beautiful siren compelled to kill. Bella's bloodlust won't be slaked until she's slain the entire lineage of the men who wronged her. Including the last Cullen. AU, Canon Couples**

 **Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted, or lurked this fic! I'll see you next Thursday!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
** **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.**

 **Wednesday, March 14, 1956  
** **11:36 PM**

I push Jimmy's picture back across the table. "Sorry, fellas. Can't help you on this one either."

Slick sneers and crosses his arms over his chest. "You seriously tellin' us you never heard of this guy?"

"Afraid not."

"Really?" Glasses' eyes narrow to slits. "He's not familiar at all?"

"Should he be?"

Glasses slaps another picture down of some charred remains. "What about now?"

 **August 1954**

"Let's head over to Black's," Mikey Neri says, jerking his chin up the block of Jeweler's Row to Billy Black's shop.

I fall in step with him on the pavement, walking side-by-side like I have an ounce of respect for this prick when all I really want to do is push him into oncoming traffic for his father's role in my dad's death. _An eye for an eye and all that bullshit._

Carlisle's got me shadowing this kid for the week, so I do my best to keep my mouth shut and my eyes open. This one is just like his father, walking around like he's really something with his flashy suits and his self-satisfied smile. It's no wonder Felix and Paulie hate him. They do all the dirty work making the hits, hustling everyday to make tribute and put food on the table while this smug son of a bitch strolls through the diamond district, collecting the fattest envelopes in the city. I'm not sayin' his father has something to do with it, but his father has something to do with it.

"This place still run by Billy Black?"

"Nope. Poor fuck had a heart attack on the toilet taking a shit."

"Jesus."

"Now his son runs it."

"Who? Jake?"

"You know him?"

"Yeah." I pull open the door to the shop. "Me and Jake go way back."

"Jacob," he booms as he enters the store. "How's business?"

"Mr. Neri," Jake greets, reaching into a drawer and pulling out an envelope.

"You remember this guy?" Mikey thumbs in my direction before grabbing Jake's money.

"Edward Cullen." Jake smiles, extending his hand across the glass counter. "Been a long time."

"It has."

"You're a little light this week, Jake." Mikey interrupts, weighing the envelope in his palm.

"I am?" Jake asks, looking genuinely puzzled. "That's what I paid last week."

Mikey sucks his teeth, running a finger over the bills. "Nope. You're about fifty short, I think."

Jake pulls out a few more bills and begrudgingly slaps them in his hand. "Here you go."

Mike sniffs and looks at his watch, seeming antsy all of a sudden. "Listen, I'm gonna let you two catch up. I've gotta run to meet-up with another, uh, client so you can just meet me up at Clearwater's on the next block in say thirty minutes or so." He points to Jake. "And I'll see you next week."

He hauls ass out the door so I step up to the window to see where he's going in such a rush, when I hear Jake behind me. "Clearwater's is the other way."

"Is it now? Wonder where he's off to."

Jake shifts uncomfortably then heads back behind the counter, but says nothing.

"You got any ideas?"

He shakes his head. "I prefer to mind my business."

I scratch my temple. "All due respect, Jake, the only business you should be worried about mindin' is my uncle's."

He mulls that over a minute then leans on the counter. "Three blocks down there's a little shithole restaurant. Your friend spends a lot of time there, but he ain't with friends of your uncle's."

"What kinds of friends we talkin' about here?"

"Friends who Senator Joe McCarthy might be interested in talking to."

Commies. Russians. _Fuck_.

"I highly doubt you've got any of _those_ kinds of friends on the payroll."

I decline to confirm because he knows we don't and it's none of his fucking business if we did. "Are _you_ familiar with these friends of his?"

He tips his head back and forth. "I'm familiar with the fact that they boosted a shipment of mine last month."

"Mikey didn't handle that?"

"No, but I made sure he was made aware of it. He's raised my fee four times since."

"I see."

"Look, Ed." He holds his hands up. "I mean no disrespect. Your family and mine go way back."

"We do."

"But—"

"I'll look into it."

He's smart enough to know that's the end of the discussion, so he redirects. "How ya' been though?"

"All right. You?"

"Busy since my dad, uh, you know."

"Yeah, I was sorry to hear that."

"Anyway. I've got the business now, plus a wife and a kid with one on the way."

"You are busy."

"Got any kids?"

"I hope not." I laugh. "Nah, no kids, no wife, but I'm seein' a good girl, so who knows?"

"Eh," he flicks the glass case with the diamond sparklers, "you may be back in here before you know it."

"Maybe." I shrug and walk over to a display full of necklaces. The sunlight glints off of them, making them all shimmer, but only one catches my eye. "Lemme get a look at this blue one."

"The sapphire with the diamonds? Nice choice."

I hold it in my hand, trying to imagine how it'll look against Bitsy's skin. "How much?"

"No charge." I open my mouth to protest, but he waves me off. "I insist. I've been, uh, trying to find a way to reach out to your uncle without making waves for us on the row. If you could just let him know that he has our respect, but …" He trails off, not having the balls to come out and say that Mikey's sullying his reputation among our clients.

We shake on it.

"I'll make sure it's handled."

* * *

"Chicago cut, medium rare, and another scotch when you get a chance."

The waiter nods and jots down my order. "And for the lady, sir?"

"She'll have the same minus the scotch."

"Very well, sir."

Bitsy sips her wine and my eyes move down to where the sapphire pendant is nestled between her cleavage. _Fuckin' gorgeous_.

"It's beautiful, Edward."

My gaze snaps to hers just in time to see her smirking because I've been caught ogling yet again. "I'm glad you like it."

A loud gasp followed by an excited squeal sounds from two tables away, where a young man is dropping down on one knee with a small box in the palm of his hand. His intended bursts into tears as he holds out his hand for hers.

"Jesus," I jerk my thumb in their direction, "what's with the waterworks?"

Bits props her chin on her hand, watching the show looking somewhat amused. "Because that's what you do when you know you're settling." She smirks. "You bawl your face off."

"What makes you think she's settling?"

"You can just tell by looking at her," she says as though it's obvious. "That girl only has eyes for the ring and not the man who's promising to love, honor, and cherish her or whatever it is he's going on about."

She's right. I watch as the poor sap is pours his fucking heart out to the broad, but she's not hearing a word out of his mouth because she's too busy looking at her hand from every angle.

"She's smilin' though, so she must be a little happy about it."

"I'm sure she's thrilled on some level … about the wedding. But probably more so that she can rub it in her friends' faces that she's somebody's somebody."

I snort.

"Even if deep down she knows that somebody is a nobody and probably always will be." Clucking her tongue, she grabs her wine glass and raises it like everyone around us to the happy couple. "Congrats, honey."

" _Cent'anni_ ," I toast, wishing them a hundred more of these days and down the last of my scotch. "You've got me curious, Bits."

"About?"

"About your thoughts on marriage."

"And why's that?"

"You seem," I wrinkle my nose, "a little put off by the idea."

"Not at all." Her finger traces the rim of her glass. "I'd like to get married _someday_ , it's just that I have some pretty specific ideas about the kind of man I want to marry."

"So not just any poor schmuck will do?"

"For others, sure, but not for me." She shrugs. "Although, to be fair, any woman with half-a-brain can take a man and make him better than he was. Maybe even turn him into a good man."

"Elevate him?"

"Yes."

"What about you, huh? What kinda guy are you lookin' to marry?"

Her lips twitch as she grabs her glass. "A great man."

"I see." Folding my hands together on the table, I lean forward. "So you marry yourself a great man, and what? You gonna try to elevate his standing too?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Well you can't get much better than great."

"Sure you can."

"What's better than great?" I ask, lowering my voice. "What'll your husband be with you by his side?"

"Powerful." Her eyes drop to the wine swishing around in her class before flickering up to mine. "Very, very powerful."

"Your scotch, sir," the waiter interrupts, setting the glass on the table, but neither Bella nor I look up.

"Thank you," I say absently, still taken aback by the implication of my girl's words and the conviction with which she spoke them.

"Would the lady like more wine?"

Bella drains the last of her glass and licks her lip as I answer for her. "She would, thank you."

We sit in silence for several moments, her running her finger over her new necklace and me turning her words over in my head. For some reason, my mind goes back to a conversation I had with my father a few years before he died.

"Penny for your thoughts," she hedges.

"Yeah, uh, what you were sayin' earlier about great men reminded me of a conversation I had with my old man before he died."

"Oh. You don't have to tell me if you're not comfortable."

"No, it's fine. It's actually a funny story. My father rolled in one Sunday mornin' after being out all night with the fellas playin' poker and my ma was furious. He tried to duck her, but she caught up with him in the living room on his way up the stairs. I happened to be sittin' there in the middle, mindin' my business tryin' to get my shoes on for church when she started in on him." I laugh, picturing them arguing in my mind. "Their fights were always the same, you know. Her gettin' loud, talkin' with her hands, and him gettin' defensive, but this time it was different. This time he got her _so_ nuts, she grabbed the shoe I was tryin' to get on my foot and flung it at his head."

Her eyes go wide.

"Now I'm not sayin' my mom could've pitched for the Cubs that year, but her accuracy was alarming. I heard that shoe whack him – BAM!" I clap my hands together. "But then I made the mistake of looking up at her like she was crazy."

"What'd she do?"

"She started looking at _me_ crazy."

"Uh-oh."

"Needless to say, I hustled my no-shoe-wearing-ass out the door behind my father and nearly got hit with the other shoe on the way."

Covering her mouth, she tries to stifle her giggles, but it's no use.

"My old man drove me around the city until we found an open flower shop. I expected him to come out with a huge bouquet," I widen my arms, "like the kind you'd see on top of a casket. Instead he comes out with a handful of bluebells which happens to be her favorite."

"Aww."

"I told him he was askin' for it going home with that and suggested that he hit up the jewelry store instead. He laughed for about three blocks then told me I knew nothin' about women, which to be fair, was true at the time."

She wiggles the pendant. "You've got great taste though."

"Well thank you." I dip my head in her direction. "Anyway, we pulled up in front of the house and he starts in about how my ma saw somethin' in him when he couldn't afford anything more than a handful of handpicked bluebells from her neighbor's yard."

"Maybe she saw greatness."

"She did." I grab my scotch. "And he spent his life lovin' her for it."

 _Understatement_. My father worshipped my mom. Preferred her counsel and company over anyone else.

"That's sweet."

"What about you, Bits? You think you're goin' to love this great man you intend to make powerful?"

"Of course," she tilts her head, "but more importantly, I'll respect him."

"That's more important to you? Respect over love?"

Shrugging, she flips her hair over her shoulder. "They're both important, but from what I can tell, love doesn't keep you loyal. Respect does."

"True," I agree, thinking of all the guys I know with loving wives at home and broads on the side. "Now you just need to find this great man you're lookin' for."

The corner of her mouth turns up. "I know it when I see it."

 _This girl._ "You're killin' me, Bits." I raise a glass. "To respect."

* * *

"Fuck," I mumble, throwing the covers off and turning on my bedside lamp as the shrill ring of the telephone sounds through my apartment. The alarm clock reads four a.m. Nothing good can come from a phone call at this hour in the morning.

I stumble out of bed and amble to the living room, rubbing my eyes and yawning. "Hello."

"Edward?" Paulie answers, his voice crackling through the receiver.

"It's four in the mornin', man."

"We're havin' a party."

"Oh yeah?"

"Got a special guest in the car."

 _Fuck. It's time._ "All right."

"We got him a room by the choo-choo," he says, nonchalantly telling me to go to the train yard. "Benny will show you in."

"I'll be there."

"You might wanna step on it, you know how crazy the big man gets about parties."

"Yeah," I agree, knowing that if I don't get there, Em will happily do the honors of killing this piece of shit. "Lemme throw on some clothes and I'll be on my way."

Twenty minutes later, I'm pulling up to the train yard and I see Benny leaning against his Cadillac. We don't speak a word as he leads me down the tracks.

"Third one from the caboose." He points to a freight car with a sliver of light showing through the doorway.

As I get closer, I hear noises. Grunting and the distinct sound of knuckles pounding skin. I peek inside and through the dim lighting of a gas lantern I see Emmett and Jimmy trading punches. One of Jimmy's eyes is swollen shut and there's a big gash over his other one. Em's undershirt is covered in sweat and there's a little blood coming from his mouth.

Nudging the door open, I climb inside. Em turns to the sound and Jimmy gets a hard shot in, knocking him back a few feet. Paulie steps forward, but Em recovers fast, tackling Jimmy to the ground, raining blows on him. After a minute, we no longer hear the crunch of bone, just a squishing sound where a nose used to be and Jimmy's groans.

Felix taps Em on the shoulder. "Don't kill him. Eddie's gotta be the one to do it."

Standing, Em throws in a kick to the ribs for good measure before turning to me. "Put this dog down."

Paulie hands me a piece and I step forward, pulling the hammer as I go.

Rising to his knees, Jimmy spits blood and slurs as he speaks. "Your wife hits harder than that."

Rage flashes across Em's face. It's the exact same face I saw when he beat that kid to a pulp with a tire iron. This clown's gonna suffer.

"Hold him!" Em orders.

Felix grabs Jimmy by the hair, kneeing him in the back to stop him from flailing around. Beside me, Paulie loosens his tie and places his switchblade in Emmett's hand before circling around Jimmy and wrapping his tie around his neck.

Jimmy's good eye bulges and his face strains when Paulie tightens. Letting out a silent scream, Jimmy opens wide which is exactly what Em was waiting for.

"You like runnin' your mouth, you sick fuck?" Em asks through gritted teeth, grabbing the tip of Jimmy's tongue. "Let's hear what you gotta say now!"

I look away, not wanting to see. Instead I hear the flick of the stiletto knife then the wet sound of the blade sawing through tender flesh. Jimmy's screams fill the air and in the shadow on the wall I see Em's silhouette standing over him, dangling his tongue above his head. He tosses it against the freight car and it squelches and thuds as it hits the metal wall before sliding to the floor.

Turning back, I see Em cupping his ear at Jimmy whose cries are coming out all garbled. "What was that?"

Paulie laughs and throws Jimmy to the ground. "You know how to use that thing Eddie?"

Nodding once, I say nothing as Em reaches down and grabs Jimmy by the hair to spit on his face. He throws him back to the floor and dips his chin in my direction, giving me the okay to pull the trigger. Jimmy slinks back to the wall, shaking his head and gurgling what I'm assuming are pleas for mercy. I look him in his good eye, raise the gun and fire. Two shots ring out and he slumps to the ground.

 _I feel nothing_.

Felix pats my shoulder as he passes me to douse Jimmy's body in gasoline.

"Ya' done good, Eddie Boy!" Paulie follows me out of the freight car and brings his cigarette to his lips. "Don't forget to lose the gun."

I wipe it off on my jacket then chuck it back in the car just as Felix reaches the door and pitches the gas can near the body.

Hopping down onto the gravel, Felix gestures to Paulie. "Light him up."

Striking a match, he lights his cigarette and tosses it into the freight car behind him. We watch the flames spread for a few moments before heading over to Em and Benny who are waiting by the Cadillac.

Wiping his mouth, Em checks himself out in his reflection on the window. "He got me good." He points to a bruise on his jaw before grabbing his dress shirt. "I'm starvin'. What's open over here to eat, Benny?"

"Let's see, there's a spot about six blocks over with good steak and eggs and a cute waitress with a great set of cans."

I make a face and Em notices. "You don't like steak and eggs, Eddie?"

My stomach lurches as I hold it, unable to stop myself from remembering the sounds of the blade carving through Jimmy's tongue and all the fucking blood. "How can youse even think about eatin' right now?"

Paulie laughs. "What? Does your tummy hurt, Susan?"

"I'll get you some Rolaids, Phyllis," Benny chimes in.

I flip them the bird. "Pricks."

Walking up to me, my cousin claps me on the shoulder. "Books open up in the next few months. You ready to take on what my father has in mind for you?"

"I am."

"Good, 'cause I'm gonna need all the fuckin' help I can get."

I laugh.

"We've got a lot to prove, you know. I don't want anyone thinkin' they can get one over on me."

"Agreed. And that needs to start right now."

"What do you mean?"

"I think we may have a situation over on Jeweler's Row."

* * *

 **A/N: Welp. That's how _these_ Outfit boys get down.**

 **Time to let it WIP**

 **The Other Twin** **by symphian - Edward left home ten years ago over bad blood and angry words. Now a family tragedy brings him back to the place he swore to never return to. Will he find forgiveness and maybe something a little more AH, AU, CANON**

 **And for those of you who are on enjoy ofic on Wattpad from time to time - make sure to check out my pal, Lolo84's current WIP over there. It's fab - I'm 'bout it, 'bout it!**

 **Now That We're Dead by lolosofocused2 - When Mya's cruel and abusive husband commits suicide, she must battle feelings of grief and relief under the scrutiny of her small judgmental town. Her grieving is further complicated by the return of her late husband's best friend, and her first love, Leoh.**

 **Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted, or lurked this fic! I'll see you next Thursday!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
** **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.**

* * *

 **Wednesday, March 14, 1956**

 **11:40 PM**

"Wish I could help you boys." I tap the picture of Jimmy's remains. "Doesn't ring a bell."

"Fine!" Glasses snatches them off the table. "Let's move on to the next couple of months. August." He drops a snap of me and Paulie walking down Jeweler's Row. "September." He slaps down a photo of me, Carlisle, and Emmett coming out of a meeting with the then mayoral candidate who's now Chicago's mayor. "November." He slides a picture of me and Bits with her father at a fundraiser. "Care to explain?"

"What's there to explain?"

Slick slips his hands behind his neck and leans back in his chair, blowing out a deep breath. This cat's ready to put a beatin' on me, I know it.

"August," I flick the picture of me and Paulie, "just two fellas lookin' for gifts for our sweethearts. September," I nod to the photo of me, Uncle C, and Em, "my family likes to do our civic duty, you know. Informed citizens and all that."

Slick scowls. "Quit jerking us around."

"November." I slide the picture back to Glasses. "That was the night I met my future father-in-law." I smirk. "The Honorable Judge Charlie Swan."

* * *

 **November 1954**

"Fours and whores are wild, gentlemen." Em deals the cards around the table. "Luck ain't a lady today."

I glance at my cards before slapping them down. "Fold."

Em's cigarette dangles from his mouth. "Again?"

"Hand like a foot." I throw back my scotch and set it on the table a little harder than necessary.

Some broad with red hair and hold-on-tight hips saunters up. "Can I get you," she pauses to push out her tits, " _anything_ , Mr. Cullen?"

"Another scotch, please." I give her a little cheddar for her embarrassment because I'm certain the _anything_ she was offering wasn't of the beverage variety.

The fellas watch her walk away and Paulie sucks his teeth at me.

"What?"

He shrugs. "Not for nothin', but maybe a little backseat bingo with Vic over there may not be such a bad idea."

"And why's that?"

"You've been a little wound up lately." He tosses some cash in the middle of the table. "It's the consequences of goin' steady with a debutant."

"Shut up, ya' jerk-off."

"Bet you're doin' a lot of that these days," Benny chimes in, shaking his fist like he's rubbing one out.

"When was the last time you've even seen your dick, Big Ben?"

"OH!" Em yells over all the laughter, patting Benny on the back.

"I'm just sayin', let one of the girls relieve the tension, you'll feel good as new. Hey Mikey," Paulie shouts over to the bar. "Come 'ere."

Mikey's still a little sore at us because he lost his bread and butter on Jeweler's Row. Once Em got wind of the situation, my uncle sat Mikey down. Of course he played dumb, saying he knew about the boost and was planning to handle it, but didn't want to make waves for the family. Philly jumped in too, talking about his son being responsible by making sure it didn't affect Carlisle's tribute each week so he should get a pass.

Much to my disappointment, he got a pass, but my uncle stripped him of the row and gave it to Paulie. Now _that_ crazy bastard, he handled that situation lickety-split, setting that little shithole restaurant on fire with a few of Mikey's commie bastard friends inside. These days, Mikey Neri's slumming it, running a portion of Paulie's old territory with the shitbag loan sharks and the pussy peddlers.

"Who's your best girl these days, Mikey?" Paulie asks with a wink.

"Jessie." Mikey kisses his fingers. "Hands down, best head in the city."

Paulie snaps his fingers and points at Mikey. "It's true. She does this great little trick with her tongue and she's got these knockers, man." He holds his hands out in front of his chest. "My favorite was Heidi, though. I'm telling you, those Swiss Misses …"

"Enough." I shake my head. "I'm not gonna dip my dick in some puttana when I've got a good girl at home."

"She even let you touch her tits yet?" Benny asks out the side of his mouth like a real fucking wise guy.

My chair hits the ground and I'm up on my feet before Benny even realizes what's coming for him. Reaching across the table, I get a hold of his greasy hair and slam his face on the wood repeatedly until Paulie pulls me off of him and drags me back towards the bar.

Em stands Benny up and smacks him across the face. "What're you fuckin' thinkin'? You don't talk about his girl like that!" He smacks him again. "Show some fuckin' respect!"

Wiping his mouth, Benny looks at me like he wants to go a few rounds. "Just yankin' your chain, man. I'm sorry."

 _He ain't sorry_.

Em points at me. "Office, now."

Paulie lets me go and I march into that back room, throwing open the door and hearing it crash closed behind me. Plopping down on the chair, I tilt my head back and close my eyes, needing to settle down.

Maybe I am a little tense.

Four months of necking will do that to a man. I haven't touched her tits, or even seen 'em. All I have to show for four months with Bits is lighter pockets, a couple of handfuls of her backside, and a perpetual fuckin' hard on. I take that back, I grazed a tit once and she ran up her stoop like her ass was on fire.

Fuck it though; I'm a goner for this girl. Head over heels in love with her, and she doesn't even know it yet. I'll happily take four months without getting my dick wet for having a real shot at a dolly like her.

Two knocks sound and Em peeks in from behind the door. "You good?"

"I'm fine." I tug on my shirt and straighten the cuffs. "Your driver needs to learn some fuckin' manners though."

"He does," Em agrees. "But I need you to get your head on straight. My dad wants you in on a meeting this afternoon."

"What's goin' on?"

"A changin' of the guard."

* * *

"What the fuck do you mean I'm _out_?" Philly asks through clenched teeth, glaring at my uncle like he wants to take a bat to his head.

"Your trial's coming up. You need to lay low." Carlisle hacks into his handkerchief before finishing. "This election is much too important."

Pounding his hand on the table, Philly stands. "Fuck that, C! Who greases the politicians' palms around here, huh?" He jabs his thumb to his chest. "Me! I'm the one putting everything in place so the votes swing our way. You're gonna sit there and fuckin' dismiss me like that?"

The veins in this fucker's neck are bulging and his face is turning red. I sorta hope he has a heart attack. Not a fatal one, just one bad enough for him to keel over onto the table and maybe flop around like a fish while he writhes in pain. _Then_ I'll kill him.

Philly waits for an answer, but instead my uncle points at the chair and stares him down until he slips back into his seat. _Pussy_.

"Like I said." My uncle's words come out slow and deliberate. "Philly, you're _out_." He motions to me. "Edward, you're taking the reins on this one."

I nod once, keeping my eyes trained on my uncle.

"I want you out there shakin' hands with every single judge, alderman, and big wig in this city, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Get in the ear of every major newspaper editor, the fat cats on the Board of Trade, and the suits at the railroads." He motions to Paulie, Felix, and Mikey. "Capos, _you_ get your union delegates in line. We need people at the polls." Shoving a cigar in his mouth, he lights it up. "I need all hands on deck for this, fellas," he looks at each of us, blowing out a few smoke circles, "because we're gonna get this fat Irish fuck elected."

* * *

Two weeks later, I'm stuffed in a tux rubbing elbows with the Gold Coast elite in a ballroom at the Palmer House. Bella's working the room on my arm, smiling and mingling with her parents' friends while I keep my eyes peeled for the editor-in-chief at the Sun Times who keeps ducking me anytime I'm in earshot.

"What's with the sourpuss?" My girl runs a satin-gloved finger down my jaw as we slowly sway on the dance floor.

"What?" I smile down at her, trying not to let my gaze slip below her eyes. "Who could be sour when they've got you in their arms?"

She smirks. "True."

"You look beautiful, Bits." I spin her around slow so I can see how that pretty blue dress hugs every curve and sneak a peek at the cleavage I've been dying to touch. "I'm a lucky fella."

"Also true."

"Beautiful _and_ modest."

She smacks my chest. "Be serious now, what's wrong?"

"Eh, it's nothing. Just some election business I need to take care of for the railroad."

"Oh?"

I shrug. "The guy keeps dodging me, though. It's a real problem if I can't talk to him."

"Who is it?"

"Embry Call."

My girl's eyebrows lift and her smirk stretches into a grin.

"What? You know him?"

"Not really." She runs her hand over my chest. " _But_ … I know his wife."

"Really?"

"More importantly," her voice lowers, "I know his _business_."

"He runs the paper."

She shakes her head. "Not that business, gorgeous. Old Mr. Call has some skeletons in his closet."

"Don't we all?"

"I suppose so, but his skeleton happens to be alive and well ... and with child." Her fingers creep up over my shoulders. "Perhaps _I_ can be of some assistance here."

"What do you mean?"

"Leverage, sweetheart."

"Leverage?"

"The most powerful weapon of persuasion."

I snort and my words tumble out before I consider the implications. "I think a gun would be more effective than leverage."

Humming, her finger finds my jaw again and she tilts her head. "Wrong." She lifts up on her tiptoes and speaks against my lips. "Humiliation is far more painful than a bullet."

"Is it, now?" I give her a smooch. "Well, let's see it."

After one more peck, she slips her hand in mine. "Lead the way."

"Whatever you say, Bits."

Our mark spots us approaching and just as he's about to drag his wife away from the bar, my girl calls out to her and waves to get her attention. "Kitty, hi."

The older woman turns and beams, pulling her husband back in place. "Well, Bella Swan. How are you, dear?"

"Doing well, thanks." Bowing her head to the mister, my girl makes sure he's listening. "Forgive me for interrupting your evening, Mr. Call, but I've been meaning to speak with your wife about a matter that I think could benefit from her standing and influence at the Junior League." Turning back to the missus, she places a hand over her heart. "Last week, I was doing a nursing rotation at a home for unwed mothers-to-be in Dyer, Indiana."

Embry Call's eyes flash to mine and it looks like the poor bastard's gonna shit himself.

Bitsy continues to pour it on. "I was treating a young woman named Emily. Truly, she couldn't have been a minute older than eighteen, blonde hair, blue eyes. A real looker."

Pursing her lips, the missus tsk-tsks. "Such a shame."

"I know," Bits agrees and leans in, lowering her voice. "And her child is fathered by a married man, no less."

The missus gasps softly. "No!"

"Afraid so. It's all _very_ untoward. I mean …" My girl likes to lay it on thick. "Could you imagine if his wife found out?"

"Heartbreaking."

"Truly. However," she pauses to make eye contact with Mr. Call again, "the impropriety of the whole situation got me to thinking about the _consequences_ in circumstances such as these."

Swallowing hard, the husband fidgets with his bowtie. Almost like he's trying to loosen the noose Bitsy's tightening around his neck.

"Obviously there could be repercussions for the philanderer's marriage, his reputation and standing in society should word get out about this _delicate_ situation."

"His wife's as well."

"Exactly. And the misguided girl, well, naturally she gets branded a harlot."

"As she should."

"Agreed, but it's the child that is truly innocent in all of this. Christmas is coming up and those sweet little boys and girls don't deserve to be punished for the transgressions of weak men and women."

"Too true, dear."

"You'll have to forgive me," Bits grabs the missus' hand. "I'm too much like my mother with my soft spot for little ones."

"You _are_ a tender heart." She pats my girl's hand with her other one. "Tell you what; I'll mention it at the meeting on Monday."

"I appreciate it, Kitty. I just knew you'd be receptive to championing a cause for the kids."

"Well, of course dear." The old bat holds her arm out to me. "I don't believe we've met, I'm Kitty Call."

"Pardon my rudeness, Kitty. This is," Bitsy's eyes move from me to the mister, "Edward Cullen."

"It's a pleasure, Mrs. Call." I shake her hand and then turn to her husband who looks like he's going to be sick. "Embry Call, right? What a coincidence. I've been hoping to speak with you."

"Bella dear," Kitty smiles at my girl, "I need to powder my nose. What do you say we leave the gentlemen to their business and we go find your mother? I think I saw her somewhere around here."

"Sounds swell." Bumping my hip with hers, Bits winks. "Come find me when you're done."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Mr. Call and I reach an understanding. I have his word, but more importantly, I have his balls in a vice grip for any future favors.

My uncle will be pleased.

I stroll around the ballroom, feeling like a million bucks with a drink in hand, searching for my lucky charm. I find her across the dance floor, toying with the sapphire earrings I bought her and people watching. Her face lights up when she spots me as I make my way over to her.

Setting my scotch on the table, I pull her into my arms and plant a smooch on her that leaves her breathless.

"Bits," I whisper, ghosting my thumbs over her cheeks. "You're _amazing_."

"What did he—"

"And brilliant and gorgeous and _way_ better than I deserve."

"Stop it, you're—"

"I mean it, Bits. You're incredible and I—"

A throat clears from behind me. "Isabella."

I turn to the sound of the deep voice to find a tall, dark haired man with an impressive looking mustache glaring at me. This must be the Honorable Judge Charlie Swan.

"Daddy, hi." My girl slips around me and lifts up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "Where's Mom?"

He whirls a finger. "She's around here somewhere."

"Schmoozing?"

"Isn't she always?" His mustache twitches as he smirks down at his daughter. "You'd think she was up for re-election."

Playfully slapping him on the chest, she moves back over to my side. "Daddy, I'd like to introduce you to someone."

"Right." He drags out the word as he extends his hand. "You must be the beau I've been hearing so much about."

"Edward Cullen." Old man's got a firm grip, so I give it right back to him. "Great to meet you, sir."

"Cullen? As in Carlisle Cullen?"

"He's actually my uncle. My father was–"

"Big Ed, right?"

"You knew him?"

"I did." His eyes harden. "You in the same business?"

"No, sir."

"Edward works for the railroad, Daddy," Bitsy gushes, looking up at me with the moon-eyes.

"Railroad, huh?"

"Chicago and North Western Transportation." I place a hand on my chest. "Compliance Officer."

"Interesting." He rocks back on his heels. "I would've thought you'd be in your dad's line of work."

 _This prick_. "No. The concrete and cement business holds little interest for me."

"Is _that_ what they're calling it these days?"

"Daddy!" My girl scolds him, warning him with a look before turning back to me. "Don't mind my father; he's just sore that his poll numbers are down."

Huffing, he slams back his drink in annoyance and I kiss the top of Bitsy's head, proud of the low-blow-kick-to-the-dick she just gave her pops.

"They'll pick up," I hedge, meeting the scowl on his face with a grin. "I've got a good feelin' about your chances, sir." _If you play your cards right._ "I'm _certain_ the voters will do the right thing once they get to the polls just as they have past elections."

He seems to catch my drift, saying nothing as I call over a nearby server with a tray of champagne and hand Bella a glass. "How about a toast?"

Bitsy raises her flute high. "To my father's re-election."

"Here, here," I add, locking eyes with her father once more. "And to the City of Chicago bein' in good hands."

* * *

Two hours later, Bits and I are in the back of a cab on our way over to her place to drop her off for the evening. I loosen my tie and roll my eyes at the loud-mouth cabbie who's been nonstop with the yakety-yak since we've set foot in this taxi.

Patting my knee, she kisses my cheek. "Did you have fun tonight?"

"Yeah." _Until your old man showed up_ _to bust my chops. "_ Of course."

"I'm sorry if my dad was being kind of a pain."

I wave her off and look out the window at the city. "He was fine."

"He was an ass."

"Can't really blame the guy, can you?"

She opens her mouth to answer, but the brakes squeal and the car lurches to a stop. "Here we are," the cabbie throws over his shoulder. "Hudson and Armitage."

"Jesus!" I eyeball him in the rearview mirror. "I'll be right back. Keep the meter runnin' for me."

Helping Bella out of the car, I pull her into my side to shield her from the wind and snow flurries while she fiddles with her pocketbook.

"So what did you mean back there when you said you couldn't blame my dad?"

"Oh that." I adjust my hat on my head. "I just meant that if some guy was getting serious with my daughter, you know, making the eyes at her and pawing her in public, I'd be a little gruff myself."

"So you're _serious_ about me then?" she jokes, batting her lashes and pulling her coat tighter around her.

I meet her gaze. "As a heart attack."

She hums and steps up onto her stoop. "Well goodnight then, Mr. Serious." Her hand curls around my neck and she kisses me slow and deep. When she pulls away, I could swear I'm seeing stars. "See you tomorrow."

She makes it up three stairs when I catch her wrist. "Bits."

My girl turns around, looking gorgeous standing there under the streetlight and the snowflakes with her hair blowing all over the place and her teeth chattering. I pull my hat off my head and hold it over my heart. "I'm not good with this stuff. The, uh, words and the mushy stuff, you know. But I meant what I said earlier, or what I was trying to say."

 _This is not going well_. I clear my throat.

"You gotta know I'm crazy about you, right?"

Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she steps down one stair.

"Have been ever since I laid eyes on you in that flower shop when you were givin' your mom lip. Hell, even when you were givin' _me_ lip on the dance floor at Em's wedding, I couldn't get you outta my head." I point to my temple. "Had to see you again, even if it was just to hear you tell me to get lost. But then when you didn't, I practically ran to the nearest church to thank all the patron saints of impossible causes."

Another stair.

"Because even then, I just _knew_ , you know. You were _exactly_ what I was looking for."

Pulling her coat tighter and shivering, she steps down one more.

"A girl like you," I swallow, crushing my hat to my chest and feeling my heart beating in my throat. "Should never be left to wonder how the man by her side feels about her. She should be shown thoroughly and told often that she's adored and admired." I press my forehead to hers. "That she's loved."

"Edward," she murmurs, bringing her hands up to cup my face.

"And I do, Bits. I love you."

"I love you too."

"But more importantly, I respect you." I brush my thumb over her quivering lip. "And I couldn't go another night without letting you know." Pressing a soft kiss on her cheek, I place my hat on my head just as the cabbie honks his horn to remind me he's waiting. "Goodnight, beautiful."

I only make it about five feet before I hear her. "Wait."

I turn.

"Tell me again."

"I love you."

"Again."

Laughing, I shove my hands in my coat pockets. "I'll tell you as many times as you want, but we might freeze our asses off out here."

"You should come upstairs." She gestures to her window on the second floor. "And tell me again over coffee."

"You got it, Bits."

* * *

Ten bucks to the cabbie, a flight of stairs, and three more 'I love yous' later, Bits and I are hot and heavy on her couch. Her with her smeared lipstick and flushed cheeks, and me with tented pants and balls as blue as the dress she's wearing.

"Edward," she breathes as I skim my lips all along her collarbone.

"Hmm."

Covering my hand with hers, she guides it up over the curve of her waist to the swell of her breasts where the velvet material of her dress meets the soft skin of her cleavage. My eyes linger there a moment until I meet her gaze. Flattening my palm over her heart, she bites her bottom lip. "You can touch me."

Her voice shakes when she speaks and her heart speeds up beneath my fingers. In that moment, it takes everything decent in me not to pin her to the cushions and paw her all over. Respect and love are huge, but my girl is offering up a little more than that when she climbs into my lap and brings my hand around to her zipper.

I swallow as my thumb and forefinger find the pull tab and drag it down her back. "Bits."

"I trust you," she whispers.

Sitting up, she peels the top of her dress down and reveals a silky black little number beneath. I blow out a breath at the sight of her and take the Lord's name in vain before capturing her lips with mine and sliding my palms over her tits.

She gasps into my mouth, though I'm not sure if it's from my hands kneading her flesh or my erection rubbing against her thigh. Either way, my girl's feeling good, burying her fingers in my hair and leaning into my touch.

I trail hungry kisses down her neck and press my face into her cleavage, murmuring my appreciation into the soft swell spilling out of her corset. "Gorgeous." I swipe my tongue across her skin and run my hand down her body, resting it just above her knee.

"Edward," she moans, tightening her hold.

My hand slips beneath the hem of her dress. "I love you." Higher and higher, my fingers creep up over the lace of her stockings to the clips of her garter belt when I feel her tense.

"Wait." Her thighs snap shut and she stills my forearm with her hand. "That's …"

I freeze. "What's wrong?"

With a shaky exhale, she presses her forehead to mine and winces. "That's for the man I marry." She looks away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Her eyes widen at my words and I give her what I hope looks like a reassuring smile, even though my balls feel like they weigh as much as grapefruits between my legs. "I respect that."

* * *

 **A/N: *waves hello to everyone from TFMU in Vegas***

 **Carrie ZM and I had no time to find WIPs to rec this week, so instead we have a question. Tell us which COMPLETE fic that you wish would've gone on forever and ever and ever because you'll never get enough of it?**

 **Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd or lurked this fic! See you guys on Thursday!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
**

 **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **Wednesday, March 14, 1956  
** **11:43 PM**

"Judge Swan must just love you, huh?" Slick crosses his arms over his chest with an arrogant grin. "An Outfit low-life for an in-law?"

"You need to get your facts straight, Slick. I work for the railroad."

"Right, right. The compliance gig."

I nod.

"Ya' see, here's the thing, Cullen." He stands, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don't think you actually work for Chicago and North Western." Rounding the table, he keeps his eyes on me. "I think you're nothin' more than a scumbag gangster."

"I'm afraid not, officer."

He kicks my seat. "Detective!"

"And a shoddy one at that."

"Stand up!" Slick yells, kicking my chair again and putting up his dukes.

I look at Glasses. "Do I need to have my father-in-law speak to the police chief about your partner here?"

"Cool it, Crowley!" Glasses motions to the door. "Take five."

I give Slick a tight-lipped smile and he gives me the finger on his way out.

Glasses pulls off his specs and wipes the lenses. "Now, Mr. Cullen. I know your taxes say Chicago and North Western. I know your checks are signed by them too. I know you go in a few times a week, show your face to the pretty ladies in the secretary pool, and attend the board meetings. But even still, I believe that your true employer is The Outfit."

He pulls a picture from his folder and places it in front of me. "December 4th, 1954. That's you walking into a restaurant with several known members of The Outfit, including your cousin, Emmett Cullen, and your uncle, Carlisle. Four hours later, you come staggering out with a bottle of champagne in your hand."

 _I remember this night._ "We were celebrating."

"We believe this is the night you _officially_ became a member of The Outfit."

 _Correct_. "Nope." I point to the picture. "That's the night my cousin announced that his wife was with child and we were toasting to the health of my godson."

* * *

 **December 1954**

"I want the biggest bouquet you've got," I tell Mrs. Cope over the phone as I look down on the city from my office window.

A couple of knocks sound from the door and my secretary pops her head in. "Mr. Cullen and Mr. Cullen are here to see you, sir."

I motion them in and go back to listening to Mrs. Cope rattle off different kinds of blooms.

"Use whatever you want Mrs. C, just _no_ red roses."

My uncle and cousin shuffle in and take their seats across from my desk while I confirm the hospital address and floor Bits is working on today.

"Greeting on the card?" she asks.

"To Bella."

"Message?"

 _Thanks for finally sticking your hands down my pants and jerking me off last night_. "Let's go with thinking of you."

"Salutation?"

"With love _and_ respect."

"Signed?"

 _My dick and balls_. "Edward."

"I'll get that right over to her, Mr. Cullen."

"Thanks Mrs. Cope. And make it big, I want all the nurses on the floor jealous of my girl."

She laughs. "You got it."

I spin around and hang up the phone, whistling as I take my seat. "How's it goin', fellas?"

Uncle C smirks. "That's a lot of flowers you're sendin' there. You in the doghouse?"

"Not at all." I fold my hands together. "Just like to keep Bits happy."

"She's a good girl for you." Uncle C tosses his hat on the desk. "And a good fit for the family."

"She is," I agree wholeheartedly.

I've been bringing Bitsy around the family more. First it was birthdays and christenings, now she regularly sits with my mother and Aunt Es at mass and helps them prepare the Sunday dinners.

"You should make an honest woman of her."

"I intend to." I open my drawer and reach for my cigarettes. "Someday."

"Sooner than someday, kid." He waves a finger. "Girls like that won't wait."

"We ain't here to bust your balls though, Ed." Em grins. "We're here to talk to you about the books."

"Opening already?" Shoving the cigarette in my mouth, I strike a match and light it up.

Em nods. "Our friends are flying in from the boot on Friday for dinner and drinks on Saturday."

"And Momo will be joining us too," Uncle C adds.

I exhale out the side of my mouth. "Really?"

"You sound surprised."

"That's 'cause I am." I shake out the match and set it in the ashtray. "Momo hates the cold. Why would he leave Havana to come to Chicago in the dead of winter?"

"Because I told him he needed to be here." My uncle thumbs his chest. "Not only that, but he needs to show his face, especially when our friends from Sicily are in town."

" _And_ 'cause he's sweet on some songbird that's performin' at the Orchid," Em answers, waggling his brows.

"Always with the singers, that one."

Carlisle pulls a prayer card out of his pocket and slides it across my desk. "This is for you."

"Saint Thomas Aquinas?" I flip it over in my hand. "Patron saint of –"

"Students. Education." My uncle points at his temple. "Knowledge."

Taking a drag, I hold the smoke as I read the prayer aloud. " _Give me a sharp sense of understanding, a retentive memory, and the ability to grasp things correctly and fundamentally. Give me the talent of being exact in my explanations and the ability to express myself with thoroughness and charm_." I flick the card. "I like this one."

"Point out the beginning, direct the progress, help in the completion," my uncle finishes the prayer. "Seems appropriate, yeah?"

"Definitely."

"Saint Thomas Aquinas was your father's patron saint as well."

"I didn't know that."

He crosses his ankle over his knee. "Mine was Saint Gabriel."

Em squints. "The Archangel?"

"Yep. He's also the patron saint of messengers."

Making a face, Em reaches for my smokes. "Why'd you go with that one?"

"Our old man picked our saints for us before we got our buttons. Growing up, he'd always say that I was the mouth and my brother was the brains." My uncle stares at his shoe, picking at his socks seemingly lost in thought.

"Who'd you get, Em?" I ask, when it doesn't appear that Uncle C has any more to say.

"Saint George."

"Courage and strength?"

"That'd be me. Only 'cause there isn't a patron saint of good looks and charisma."

My uncle rolls his eyes and jerks his chin at his son. "This one should've been given Saint Genesius."

"Patron saint of geniuses?" Em asks, looking hopeful.

"Not geniuses, kid." Standing, my uncle grabs his hat and slips it on his head, tilting it just so. "Clowns."

"Get outta here." Em shoves a cigarette behind his ear and points to me. "Saturday night, Ed. We'll pick you up 'round eight."

* * *

"Gentlemen." Gino, one of the brothers in from Sicily stands, tapping his fork against his wine glass. "Let's get started, shall we." The fellas quiet down around us. "Tonight we welcome four new members into our family."

Me and a few other guys stand in front of the room with our patron saint prayer cards in hand, listening to him speak at length about the code of silence and muddle through the typically unspoken rules among wise guys apart from keeping your eyes and ears open and your mouths shut.

"Loyalty above all." He points a finger. "Don't interfere with each other's interests. There's enough to go around."

The other Sicilian, Francesco, rises to his feet to add his two cents in his thick accent. "Being a man of honor requires one thing, gentlemen, just one." He pauses, making eye contact with each of us. " _Respect_."

"Your wives, your women, your elders, yourselves," Gino continues where his brother left off. "The men in this room. Stand-up men _earn_ respect."

"Because they demand it." Francesco holds up a fist.

"And," Gino waves a hand, "because they give it."

"Sponsors," Francesco calls, motioning for the men who are vouching for us tonight to stand and my uncle steps beside me with a dagger and small box of matches in hand. The dagger lands on the table with a heavy thud and I imagine I'll be at the hospital tonight with a stigmata-type wound.

"Don't worry, kid." My uncle C winks and grabs my hand, pulling out a sewing needle. "The dagger is purely symbolic."

He pricks my trigger finger and squeezes it hard until the blood trickles down over the face of Saint Thomas Aquinas.

"Repeat after me," Gino says as my uncle lights a match, setting my bleeding saint on fire. "As this saint burns."

"As this saint burns."

"So will burn my soul."

The paper crackles when it touches the blood. "So will burn my soul."

"Should I betray the oath of _Omertà."_

I take a deep breath. "Should I betray the oath of _Omertà."_

"I enter alive."

I feel the fire near my fingers as I speak. "I enter alive."

"And I will have to leave dead."

The ashes of Saint Thomas fall to the floor. "And I will have to leave dead."

"Welcome, gentlemen." Gino bows his head as I shake out the fire before it burns me.

"Come 'ere you." My uncle grabs my face and kisses my cheeks, welcoming me to the family. "Benvenuto in famiglia."

Em, Paulie, and Felix congratulate me over the sounds of champagne corks being popped all around us. Music plays and girls are brought in to dance and hang around men old enough to be their father. I sit with Momo for a long while, catching up with him over several drinks while his songbird whispers sweet nothings in his ear.

My uncle's holding court at the bar, telling stories with the old timers about how they came up. I step closer to listen to him talk about my father. Even now, you can hear the reverence in his voice when he speaks about him. The respect with which he still regards him. The day my father died, my uncle had the crown thrust upon him. I don't think he ever considered he'd be in the position of power, nor did he want it. Philly was the one who wanted the power. All my uncle could think about vengeance. He was out for blood and he got it. Sadly, I don't think the right blood was spilt.

Em taps a dagger to an unopened champagne bottle and calls for everyone's attention. "Gentleman!" He tosses the knife on the table and and fiddles with the cork, trying to pop it open. "I have an announcement!"

My uncle moves beside him to clap him on the back. "Quiet down, fellas. Quiet down."

The cork flies across the room and the champagne bubbles out of the spout as he holds it over his head. "Tonight ... is about family." The men around him nod. "And I'd like to propose a toast to my cousin, who's taken his rightful place tonight as both a member," he smiles, "and as godfather to the beautiful baby my Rosie's givin' me this summer."

The fellas cheer and we all toast the news of my cousin becoming a father.

"This is an honor," I tell him, pulling him aside once all the old timers are done kissing his cheeks and throwing out blessings for him to have sons. "Truly, Em."

He brings a palm to my face. "It's all happening, Eddie."

"It is," I agree and I can't tell if he's swaying or if I am.

"Everything we wanted. It's gonna be ours."

"Ours," I repeat, realizing that it's definitely me swaying. "Ours for the taking."

"That's right. Anything we want now, we can make it happen."

"Anything we want." My mind goes to Bitsy. "We gotta make it happen."

He pats me on the shoulder, hands me an unopened bottle of bubbly from the nearby table, and walks away. I stare at it a moment, thinking to myself that champagne is for occasions and occasions are meant to be celebrated with the ones you love. My watch says it's a little after midnight, but my alcohol-addled brain says it's the perfect time to pay Bits a visit.

Lord forgive me, but my dick agrees.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, I have the cabbie pull over at a pay phone a block over from her house. I hear it ring twice before I hear her sleepy little voice on the line.

"Bitsy!"

"Edward? Are you all right?"

"I need to see you."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just," I rest my forehead against the pay phone, "I need to see you and I'm only a block away from your place."

"Edward, it's almost one in the morning."

"I know." I pinch the bridge of my nose, almost certain she's gonna tell me to get lost. "I know it's late, I just … Give me ten minutes."

"Okay. I'll leave the door unlocked."

"I'll be right there."

I stagger up her block then stumble my way up her stairs. She meets me at the top looking like a Hollywood starlet in her shiny white bathrobe. Waving my bottle of champagne, I go to speak but she puts a finger over her lips and pulls me inside.

"Are you drunk?" She looks mad, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Had to see you, Bitsy." I set the bottle on the table and pull her into my arms. "It's all happening."

"What's happening?"

"All of it. For me." I take hold of her face. "For us."

"What do you mean?"

"Tonight was a big night for me, Bits." I give her a smooch. "And it's just the beginning." Another kiss. "You at my side and the sky's the limit."

"Are you talking about work?" Her hands cover mine. "Did you get a promotion?"

"Yeah." I smile. "A _big_ one."

"Congratulations!" She's giving me the moon-eyes again.

"I was surrounded by all the guys, but the only person I wanted to celebrate with was you, Bits."

"Really?"

"Truly."

She kisses the shit outta me, then skips over to her kitchen cabinets and pulls out a couple of mugs. "I don't think I have any flutes, so these will have to do."

I pop the cork and it spills all over the place. "Shit, sorry."

"It's fine," she wipes it up with a towel while I try to pour the bubbly.

"Here you go, Bitsy." I hand her the mug and hold up the bottle.

Raising her glass, my girl beams. "To your big night and all the wonderful things that will come from it."

"And to my best girl." I plop down on the chair, keeping my bottle high. "It only happens with you at my side."

Her glass clinks against my bottle and she sips while I guzzle.

"It's late," she says, placing her mug on the table.

"It's early."

"We have mass in the morning."

I pull her into my lap. "I want some sugar."

She kisses me once and it's chaste, but it still makes my dick hard. "Are you trying to sweet-talk me, Cullen?"

"If I was tryin' to sweet-talk you, I'd speak in Italian."

"Mmm. Let's hear it."

"Baciami amore mio," I beg for my love to kiss me as my finger traces the lapel of her bathrobe. She complies, parting those pretty lips and teasing me with her tongue. Her hands find my hair and mine find the tie of her robe. With one pull, it slips open and I have to break the kiss to stare at what's beneath.

"Bellissimo," I breathe, pushing the robe off her shoulders and slipping my fingers beneath the straps of her night gown. "Lasciati guardare."

She nods once, giving me permission to see her. I feel her tremble slightly as the material slides down her arms and reveals her body to me, inch by perky inch.

She's fucking mouthwatering, sitting there topless while biting her lip and giving me the big doe eyes. "Sei perfetto." I tell her she's perfect, because she is and my finger traces a line up from her belly-button to the space between her tits and I take it step further when I tell her I want to touch her. "Voglio toccarti."

She tenses at my words, so I lean in and suck on the spot just below her ear that drives her wild. Once I hear her quiet moans, I plead with her to let me feel her. "Lasciati toccare."

Covering my hands with hers, she brings them to her chest and arches into my touch. I curse as her nipples press into my palms and pray that I don't blow my load at the sight of the petal pink tips being rolled between my fingers.

Burying her hands in my hair, she lets me kiss my way down her neck and her cleavage until finally, _fucking finally_ , I can get my mouth on her tits. I always imagined this different with her. Slower. More romantic. Maybe on a bed with candlelight and shit. Instead I'm over here like a caveman, pawing and slobbering over her tits like a horny teenager at a drive-in movie, so I pull away to remind her that I love her, despite my behavior.

"I love you too."

"Lemme make you feel good."

She smiles. "You are."

My hand slips lower, covering the cotton between her thighs. "I mean like this."

"That's —"

"I know, Bits, and I respect that. I do." I lick my lips. "But tell me somethin' real quick. Do you _really_ think I'm not gonna be the one who marries you?"

Her teeth find her lip again and she doesn't reply.

"Huh? You really think you're ever gonna love anyone more than you love me?"

"No." She shakes her head. "Never."

I press my fingers to her pussy. "Then lemme touch you, Bits." Rubbing her slowly, I watch her eyes fall closed and her head tip back.

"That's it," I whisper when her hips start to circle, grinding against my hand. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

I shift her panties to the side. "I can make it better."

With a gasp, her eyes snap open at the feel of my bare fingers slip-sliding over her warm, wet flesh. "Edward." My name comes out sounding like a warning and a moan, but I figure she's into it because her hips are rolling and she's panting and pushing her tits in my face.

"Christ, Bits," I groan and flick my tongue over her nipple before sucking it into my mouth. My finger finds its way inside and saints alive, my girl is tight.

Her hand moves down my neck to my chest, then lower where I'm harder than hell and straining beneath my pants.

"That's it," I encourage her as she unzips me and reaches inside to wrap her fingers around my length.

Jerking me slow, she presses her lips to my ear and sucks my earlobe before whispering, "Like that?"

"Faster."

She obliges.

"Harder."

I match my finger to move with her tugs.

"That's it, baby."

I watch her bounce and writhe on my fingers and goddamn, she's fucking perfect. _But it's not enough_.

"I need you, Bella," I whisper, pulling her lower-half to mine, until the tip of my cock is flush against her heat.

My girl tries to push off of me. "Edward."

"Please, Bits." She's got me begging again as I rub my dick back and forth over her clit.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because," she looks away, "I want your respect."

"I respect you."

"And I want you to _still_ respect me in the morning."

"I will, I promise." My tongue swipes up her neck and I drop a kiss beneath her ear. "It'll be our little secret." Another kiss. "You can pretend you're still my good girl."

She freezes at my words and pulls back. Her expression unreadable.

"Bits?"

Her name's barely out of my mouth before she's got my dick in her hand and her mouth covering mine. She's kissing me so hard; I swear it would hurt if I could focus on anything other than her rubbing the head of my cock against her pussy.

I moan into her mouth and in return she bites my lip.

"OW! Fuck!"

"You want me?"

"Yeah."

"Say it!"

"I want you." She jerks it harder against her. "Fuck! I want you!"

Her swollen lips curl into a smile when I throw in a please and she kisses me softly. "Then you know what you need to do."

Sliding off me, she covers herself with her robe and wraps it up tight.

"Come on, Bits, don't be like that." I reach for her and smirk. " _That's_ coercion."

"No, sweetheart." She tilts my chin up and squeezes my face. " _That's_ respect."

* * *

 **A/N: *Lay winces* "He's such a pig."**

 ***Carrie ZM smiles and whispers* "I know. But we love him."**

 **Huge thanks and hugs to Rita for rec'ing Burning Saints on Rob Attack!**

 **So TFMU in Las Vegas was EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING! Loved every minute and everyone there! However, as a result there was no WIP'ing. So rec us something dope (please) and sound off on the following question:**

 **Which fic has your favorite Edward and why? I know, I know - what kind of Sophie's Choice question is that - but Care and I are genuinely curious to hear your responses.**

 **Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted, or lurked this fic! I'll see you next Thursday!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.**

 **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **Wednesday, March 14, 1956**

 **11:48 PM**

Clicking his pen cap, Glasses reads from a sheet in his folder. "After you became a sworn member of the Outfit, it appears you were being groomed to succeed the consigliere at the time, Fillippo Pietro Neri, AKA Philly Neri."

"Philly's no consigliere. He owns a few pizza joints on the west side."

"He's believed to have been a trusted advisor to both your father and your uncle."

"Yeah, sure. He helped 'em decide between sausage and pepperoni."

"How'd you do it, Cullen?" He taps the pen against the metal table. "How'd you edge out the old coot?"

* * *

 **December 1954**

"You can sleep the booze off on the couch," Bits calls over her shoulder on her way back to her bedroom. "I want you gone first thing in the morning."

"Bella, wait." I nearly fall on my face chasing her while trying to stuff my erection back in my pants.

The door slams shut and the lock clicks.

"Bits, I'm sorry."

"Can it!"

"Forgive me. I got carried away." I lean against the door. "I'm sorry."

* * *

Sunday morning I show up to mass without Bitsy. My ma and Aunt Es start in almost immediately. _Where's she at? Why isn't she here? What'd you do?_ I take off right after receiving communion, unable to endure the dirty looks that Rose and my mother keep casting in my direction.

Bella doesn't accept any of my calls, nor does she answer her door. After the fifth unanswered phone call, I don't even bother going to Sunday dinner with the family for fear that I'll get stabbed with a meat fork by one of my crazy relatives.

Monday I send three bouquets of flowers, two to the hospital and one to her house. She still won't take my calls.

Tuesday's more of the same, except now I've got Paulie and the guys giving me shit for stopping at several pay phones around the city throughout the day. They break my balls from nine to five, but I don't even care that I sound like a chump. I'll grovel however long it takes.

By Wednesday, I wise up and slip an orderly ten bucks to find out which floor she's doing her rotation on. Armed only with a handful of bluebells tied with a ribbon, I make my way up to the maternity ward and pray that she takes me back. _And that she doesn't kick me in the dick_.

"Can I help you, sir?" asks some young nurse at the counter, blowing smoke out the corner of her mouth and eyeing me over her cat-eyed specs.

"I'm here to see Bella Swan."

"Are you the one who keeps sending the flowers?"

I nod.

Barking out a sharp laugh, she flicks her cigarette in the ashtray and points. "Third door on the left, dreamboat. And good luck."

When I reach the third door on the left, I'm not prepared for what I'm seeing. All the scenarios I've conjured up in my head consisted of a Bella who looked a little worse for wear. Tear-stained cheeks, sleep-deprived eyes, barely keeping it together. What I'm not prepared for is how utterly unaffected she appears.

Standing in the center of a room full of baby cribs, my girl is rocking a sleeping newborn, smiling down sweetly. I push open the door and as soon as her eyes meet mine, she loses the grin.

"Bitsy."

"You shouldn't be here."

"Had to see you."

She turns her back to me, returning the ankle-biter to his crib. "I'm still furious with you."

"You should be." I take a step toward her. "My behavior was," I blow out a breath, "inexcusable."

"And _disgusting_. And _vulgar._ And—"

"And _disrespectful_."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she nods as I edge closer.

"I was out of line."

"You were."

"And I'm ashamed of how I acted." I reach out and turn her around, needing to see her face. "You've gotta know how sorry I am."

Nothing. No reaction whatsoever. Either she has a hell of a poker face or she's going to tell me to shove the bluebells where the sun don't shine.

I raise my hand to touch her cheek, but stop myself. "I'm _sorry_."

She eyes the flowers. "I'm sure you are."

"I mean it." I dip my head to meet her gaze. "You gotta forgive me, Bits."

Wrapping her arms tighter around her body, she steps back and tilts her head to the side. "Why?"

"Because I'm truly sorry for getting fresh with you like that."

She juts out her chin. "And?"

"And I'm going crazy thinking one bonehead move could make you not love me anymore."

Her expression softens.

"Still love me, Bits?"

"Of course."

 _Sweet relief_. The pad of my thumb swipes across the apple of her cheek. "Still my girl?"

Hesitating, she lowers her eyes to the floor and licks her lips. "Just promise me ..."

"Anything. Name it. It's yours."

I fully expect to hear something outrageous like jewels or furs or a pretty pink Cadillac with a big red bow and whitewall tires. What I don't expect is my girl who holds her cards so close to the vest to show her hand.

"Promise me I'm the one."

"You are."

"The _only_ one."

"Of course, why would you think—"

"I wasn't born yesterday, Edward." She gives me a look. "I'm not naïve enough to think that you've been some saint. I know there are probably lots of girls willing to do what I ... _wasn't_. Girls who can't _wait_ to sink their hooks into a fella lik—"

I place my thumb over her lips, stopping her short. "I'm no saint, Bits." _Jesus Christ if she only knew the half of it_. "But I would never _, ever_ step out on you, you understand me?"

"Even when I _won't_?"

"Only you. Even when you won't." I tuck her hair behind her ear. "Even when you're not taking my calls or my flowers or won't answer your door."

She laughs and brings her hand up to cover mine on her face.

"Just you. Understand?"

She nods.

"And that's a promise."

* * *

Twenty minutes, countless kisses, and another confirmation that she's still my girl later, I hail a cab, dead set on keeping my promise.

"Where ya' headed?" the cabbie asks, looking at me through the rearview mirror as I slide into the taxi.

"North Wabash." I pull the door shut. "Black and Son's Diamonds on Jeweler's Row."

* * *

"So." My uncle dabs the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "Where are we on our Irishman?"

I open my mouth to speak, but Philly cuts in brushing his hands together.

"Done and done. Daley secured the nomination. The unions came out in force to the polls for the primary and they'll do the same for the election. He's a shoe in. It'll be over before it starts."

"Eh, I respectfully disagree." I saw my knife back and forth through my steak. "The unions were enough to get the nom, but they won't be enough to swing the election."

Philly's silverware clanks against his plate and he jabs a finger in my direction. "And what the fuck do you know about elections, huh? What, you work a few rooms at some fundraisers and suddenly you're the fuckin' chairman of the election board?"

Taking a bite, I chew slowly and watch him stew in his seat. When he goes to speak to my uncle again, I cut him off. "Well for starters, you're thinking too small, Philly." I wipe my hands on my napkin. "This Republican. He's smart and charismatic. Smoother than our boy from Bridgeport."

"True," Uncle C agrees.

"To win this we'll need more than the unions. We'll need the papers, the wards, any and all of Chicago's highest ranking officials. We'll need the Junior League, the Woman's City Clubs and every Suzie Homemaker sittin' at home on her can to get her ass to the polls."

Paulie snickers. "Anything with a pulse, right?"

I fold my hands together. "A pulse? _No_. A city of Chicago address. _Yes_."

My uncle laughs and claps me on the back. "See. What'd I tell you, fellas? The brains on this one. He's sharp like his father."

"All we need to decide on now is _how._ "

Em squints. "How?"

"Through figures or favors."

"Figures, obviously." Philly picks up his fork and stabs his gnocchi.

I wait to speak until he's mid-chew. "Again, Philly, I disagree."

"Wouldn't it go on a case-by-case basis?" Em asks, waving his knife. "Some get money, some get favors?"

"I suppose so." I tilt my head back and forth. "But I think it's in _our_ best interest to offer favors over figures."

Philly sneers. "And why's that, kid?"

"It's simple, really." I grin. "A favor today is _leverage_ tomorrow."

* * *

A few hours later, my uncle and I are in the back room of the Orchid. He's smirking as he signs a donation check to the Fraternal Order of Police while I double check the tribute counts.

"This oughta keep 'em quiet." He puts the check in an envelope. "The crooked fucks."

"Usually does."

"So how goes it with you?" He jerks his chin at me. "Monday your mother was at the church praying a novena that you didn't screw things up too bad with Bella."

"Of course she was," I mutter under my breath to which he arches a brow. "We're good."

"Good?"

"Better than good actually." I pull the small velvet box from my pocket and hand it over. "What do ya' think?"

Whistling long and low, he eyes the ring. "That's a hell of a sparkler, kid."

"She deserves bigger."

"Don't they all?"

"True." I wind a rubber band around a stack of twenties. "Now I've just gotta get her father's blessing."

Tipping his head back, my uncle laughs and laughs and doesn't stop until he's hacking up a lung. There are tears in his eyes when he finally speaks. "Look at the balls on you wantin' his blessing!"

"What can I do? I at least gotta try."

Opening his desk drawer, he pulls out a business card and tosses it in my direction. "Give this guy a call before you go see the judge."

I read the name on the card. "Jason Jenks?" The name sounds familiar, but I can't place it. "What can he do for me?"

My uncle smiles. "Leverage."

* * *

Two weeks later, I'm drinking eggnog by a fire while Bing Crosby croons some Christmas tune over the radio. Bella's mother blathers nonstop about how dry the turkey was as she and Bits clear the table. Charlie Swan is sitting beside me, looking like he'd rather be anywhere than in the same room with me.

I clear my throat. "Mr. Swan, I have a matter I need to discuss with you."

He grunts.

"In private, preferably."

I follow him back to his study. It's exactly what I expected from a guy like him. Bookshelves filled with awards and trophies, walls chock-full of certificates and pictures of him with important people. He's a smug prick, just like I figured.

Plopping down in his chair, he puts his feet on his desk. "State your business."

"Your daughter, sir." I sit down in the seat across from him. "I love her very much and I intend to make her my wife."

He snorts. "Do you, now?"

I nod. "I know it'd mean a lot to her if we had your blessing."

Swirling his drink in his hands, he raises his glass like he's going to toast. "No."

"No?"

He gulps down the last of his brandy and slams the glass on his desk. "No."

"Sir—"

"The fact is I don't like you, Cullen. You or your family." Steepling his fingers, he looks like he's enjoying himself immensely. "You're not a good man, and my daughter must not have a goddamn brain in that pretty little head of hers for being fooled into thinking that you are." He wags a finger in my direction. "You don't fool me though."

Everything in me wants to come across the desk at him and beat him to a pulp with the bronze gavel paperweight in front of me. But I don't. Instead, I stand and sigh. "You know what the problem is, Chuck? You and me," I wave a hand between us, "we don't really know each other well."

I step over to his shelves, checking out his Medinah Golf Club trophies and all the pictures of him in ugly pants with his friends.

"You like golfing." I touch the glass of another framed picture. "And bowling." I step to a deer head mounted to a wall. "And hunting apparently, too."

His eyes narrow as he listens.

"Now me." I point to myself. "I'm not much of a golfer. I've got a terrible slice and a shitty short game. And bowlin'? Well that requires the skills of a fuckin' Neanderthal - too low brow for me. But huntin', well," I flick Bambi on the nose, "now _that_ might be right up my alley."

Circling his desk slowly, I reach into my suit coat and see the poor fuck's shoulders tense. _I wonder if he'd piss himself if I pulled out a gun._

"But I'll be honest with you; I'm not much of a sportsman. I'm more of an evenin' paper with my scotch kinda guy. Maybe take in a baseball game, go to the horse track, you know, things like that are how _I_ get my kicks." I pull an envelope from my coat pocket and toss it in front of him. "I also consider myself a bit of an amateur photographer."

He stares at the envelope.

"Go on, take a look. It's my best work yet."

Tentatively, he pulls out the pictures, one by one.

"Bree, is it? That's her name, right? The girl with you in the photos?"

His daughter must've got her poker face from her old man, because I have no idea what's going through his head.

I let out a whistle. "Eighteen, long and lean. She's quite the showpiece." I tap on the picture of him reaching under her skirt. "You two seem _real_ close. As a matter of fact, she told me that you're so close that you saw it in your heart to put her up in a sweet little spot in Lakeview. Is that true?"

He flips to a close-up of him and her locking lips.

"You still kiss the missus like that?"

Crumpling the photo in his hand, he clenches his fists like he might make a move.

"Don't worry about that." I slip back into my seat across from him and lift my ankle to rest on my knee. "I've got plenty of copies."

His eyes dart to mine. "What is it you _want,_ Cullen?"

"Well Chuck, initially I just wanted your blessing."

"And now?"

"Now I want your blessing _and_ an apology."

"For what?"

"For your comment about Bella not havin' brains in her head." I lean forward and lower my voice. "You ever disrespect her like that and I'll put every single one of these pictures on the front page of the Sun Times, you hear me?"

"I won't do it again."

"I know you won't, but that's not what I want to hear."

"I'm sorry."

I hear the words, but given the way he's staring daggers at me, I'm not convinced it's sincere. "You're sorry _and_?"

"And I won't do it again."

"You're sorry and you won't do _what_ again? Be fuckin' specific."

"I'm sorry," he swallows, "and I won't disrespect Bella again."

"Good. Now for your blessing."

His face screws into a grimace and he apparently can't make his mouth work.

I snap my fingers. "You need some help with this one too?" Poor guy looks like he's going to toss his cookies. "It goes like this, Chuck. You're gonna stand up like a goddamn gentleman, shake my hand and offer up a sincere blessing. You're gonna smile and congratulate her when she gives you the news. You're gonna smile while writin' out the checks for the wedding. You're gonna smile when you walk her down the aisle and hand her off to me. You understand?"

He gives me a curt nod.

"Say it."

Clearing his throat, he rushes out the words. "I understand."

"Now for my part." I place a hand on my chest. "I'm gonna take it easy on you, Chuck. When I see you, I'll smile like I don't think you're the biggest piece of shit on earth. I'll be cordial and polite and to anyone outside of this room, we're gonna look like best fuckin' pals."

He scrubs his hands over his face.

"Look at me," I snap my fingers. "Your daughter will want for nothin' as my wife. She'll be loved. Respected. Fucking _revered_. You _should_ be pleased that she'll be in such good hands. Thankful even." I smirk. "As a matter of fact, why don't you go ahead and thank me before you give me your blessing."

He scoffs. "Thank you?"

I cup my ear. "What's that Chuck? That didn't sound like a thank you. It sounded more like blatant disrespect to me. Are you being disrespectful again?"

"No."

"Good. I'm glad. Now let's hear it."

"Thank you," he grits out, sounding gruff and ungrateful.

"I'm not a heartless prick, Chuck. I get it. Givin' up your baby girl has gotta be hard for a father. I'm sure once we're married, whenever you see Bella and me together, you'll be tryin' to convince yourself that I'm not stickin' it to your daughter. _Every. Single. Night_." I stand. "How about this? You stand up like a man, shake my hand, and give us your blessing, and I'll do my best not to remind you of that fact." I hold out my hand. "What do ya' say?"

He stares at my hand for a few beats, looking like he might decline my generous offer. Smart man, though. He comes to his senses and rises to his feet.

"You have my blessing." He gives me a firm, albeit reluctant shake. "Be good to her."

I have no intention of being good to Bits.

I'm gonna be fuckin' great.

* * *

 **A/N: *Lay shimmies while Carrie ZM does the choreography to Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)***

 **So this week we have two questions for you:**

 **1 – If you could live in any fanfic, which one and why?  
** **2 – Game of Thrones Fans – Should Jon Snow bend the knee?**

 **It's been a busy week, pals. Carrie's on vacay and I'm just a hot mess, but we did find a fic about a great big dick that I think everyone should get on … errr um … you know what we mean. Time to let it WIP!**

 **Hatchet Man by Compass54 – Eleventy-billion dick points to Compass54 for this Dickward who gives Bella the shaft in more ways than one. Get on this one, pals – who doesn't love a big dick?**

 **Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted, or lurked this fic! I'll see you next Thursday!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
**

 **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **Wednesday, March 14, 1956  
** **11:52 PM**

"Philly's in the pizza business. I didn't edge him outta nowhere."

"Word on the street is that you're not a fan of his," Glasses hedges, raising a brow over his specs.

"You got me there." I hold my hands up. "I'm not a fan of his sauce. Too sweet."

Huffing, Glasses redirects. "Let's talk about New Year's Eve 1954."

"Best night of my life."

"It wasn't the best night of this guy's." He hands me a mug shot of Sally, my uncle's old driver. "Salvatore Torello. You remember him?"

"Yeah, I remember Sally."

"I'm glad that memory of yours is working again."

"Sally was a good friend."

"And a known Outfit member."

"He was a retired furniture salesman."

"Also a close associate and personal driver to your uncle, Carlisle Cullen." Glasses slaps down a picture of Sally's bullet-riddled body propped up against my uncle's Bel-Air in the middle of Rush Street. "And now he's dead."

* * *

 **December 31, 1954 – New Year's Eve**

"Your champagne, sir." Our server presents the bottle atop a towel on his arm.

"This place is so swanky," Bella whispers excitedly, pulling the white mink stole I gave her at Christmas tighter around her arms as she takes in the sights and sounds of the Pump Room at the Ambassador East Hotel. "It's too much."

Too much? _No_. This place is exactly right and the minute I saw the snap in the Sun Times of Grace Kelly wining and dining here, I knew this was the spot I'd make her mine. Her and me in a room full of stars, though none of them can hold a candle to my girl.

"Not at all. We're celebrating."

Bits squeaks when the server pops the cork and bursts into a fit of giggles as he pours her a flute. Something tells me that she and her mother got more than just a day of beauty at Elizabeth Arden's Red Door this afternoon.

"So," she starts when the waiter walks away, "what are we celebrating?"

"Lots of things."

"Such as?"

"I don't know about you, but 1954 was a _very_ good year for me."

"And why's that?"

I shrug. "I came home. Met a girl. Fell in love."

"Lucky girl."

"Hardly." I snort and twist the stem of my flute between my fingers. "Are you one for resolutions, Bits?"

"New Year's resolutions?" She props her chin on her hand. "Not particularly."

"You don't buy into the whole thing?"

"Not usually." Tilting her head, she narrows her eyes skeptically. "Why? Do you?"

"I don't know, I think I like the idea of it. Wanting something and going after it. Something to look forward to, you know?"

"I suppose." She taps her fingers on her cheek. "What're you looking forward to in 1955?"

"Everything."

Her pretty red lips curl into a smile. "Be serious."

"I _am_ serious," I say, reaching into the breast pocket of my jacket.

"Then be specific."

"All right." Grabbing the small velvet box, I gently set it on the table between us. "I'll be specific."

Those big, brown eyes go wide and her hand covers her mouth when I flip open the box and pinch my fingers around the thin band beneath the diamond sparkler.

"When I was growing up," I reach for her hand, "my father always told me the key to the good life is to have money rollin' in steady, a place to call my own, and the love of a good woman."

Sliding her hand in mine, I watch the other as it skims down her neck and lands just above the gorgeous cleavage spilling out over her black satin dress.

"For a long time, I thought the good life was all I ever wanted." I run my thumb over her knuckles. "But then I met you, and when you came into my life, Bits … the good life just wasn't good enough for me anymore." Fixing my gaze on hers, I grin. "I want the _great_ life."

She sucks in a breath when I slip the ring on her finger.

"And as far as I can tell, the only difference between the good life and the great life is whether or not you're by my side."

The candlelight makes her eyes sparkle and she looks more beautiful than ever as I press a kiss to the back of her hand.

"Marry me, Bella."

Exhaling slowly, she nods before mouthing the word _yes_.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Absolutely." Laughing, she leans forward and takes my face between her hands. "I can't wait to marry you, Edward Cullen. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," she chants against my lips, stopping only when my mouth covers hers.

* * *

We kiss in the cab all the way to the Black Orchid where we're greeted with huge cheers when my bride-to-be holds up her newly diamond-adorned hand. My mother smooches both of us on our cheeks and weeps as she cups Bella's face in her palms, welcoming her to the family. Linking Bitsy's arms with theirs, my mother and Aunt Es parade her around the Orchid, introducing her as the future Mrs. Cullen while the fellas clap me on the back and toast my good fortune of landing such a knockout. Even Philly offers up a blessing or two, which is nice, even though I know that it's all for show.

We drink. We dance. We kiss.

And when we're not kissing or receiving well-wishes, we're talking about our future. She wants a Better Homes and Gardens house and a beagle named Winston. I tell her I'll give her anything as long as dinner and a scotch are on the table every night by six and she's naked by seven. She laughs and asks for rose bushes lining the walk and a honeymoon in Hawaii.

"Anything, Bits," I tell her, dipping her at the end of a song. "Anything you want. It's yours."

We stay for the countdown, kissing long after the clock strikes twelve. The party's still in full swing when I lead her to the coatroom, where Sally's leaning against the wall.

"Edward!" he shouts, grabbing me by the shoulders. Bitsy smiles beside me as he congratulates us in Italian, slurring his words while giving his blessings.

I translate for her. "He says that his prayers go up and that blessings will fall down over us."

Beaming, she bows her head. "Thank you."

Sally pulls me in for a hug. "Your father would be _so_ proud of you, kid."

"Thank you, Sally." I pat his back a couple of times. "Means a lot."

Hailing a cab this time of night proves a lot easier than I expected, and I'm grateful for that because it's freezing outside. The cabbie gives us a nod and wishes us a Happy New Year.

"Hudson and Armitage," I tell him, but then Bella covers my hand with hers.

"Actually, can you take us to Cambridge and Chicago Avenue?"

My head whips in her direction and I'm pretty sure the confusion on my face is clear when I hear her rattle off my address. One look at my expression and she presses her lips together, trying not to laugh. Instead she gives me a wink and pats my cheek while the cabbie throws it into gear and steps on the gas.

I don't want to be too hopeful, but I'm guessing we're not done celebrating yet.

* * *

"This is nice," Bits says over her shoulder while checking out my digs.

"Eh, it's home for now." I point to the rooms. "Kitchen, living room, bathroom, and my bedroom's back there."

"Back here?" She cranes her neck down the hallway and takes off in that direction, slipping her stole off her shoulders and draping it on a chair.

I follow her back and find her leaning against the wall in front of the bedroom doorway. "Tired?"

She shrugs. "A little."

"Want me to take you home?"

"No." The word comes out barely above a whisper. "I'd actually like to stay."

"Of course."

Smiling, she hooks a finger around my tie and tugs until our bodies are flush. Her fingers creep higher until they're moving up my jaw and her thumb sweeps across my bottom lip. "Kiss me."

My mouth is on hers in an instant, giving her what she wants all soft and slow and sweet. I fucking ache to touch her, but there's been none of that since I got fresh with her all those weeks ago, and I don't want to chance it. She's not making it easy on me though, winding that pretty pink tongue of hers around mine and sliding her hand lower and lower until she's palming the bulge in my pants.

I curse against her lips and my hands hit the wall, slapping against the plaster on either side of her head, practically caging her in. She strokes it slow, up and down until I'm so hard it's almost painful.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I feel my fists clench as every fucking filthy thought I've ever had about my future wife flashes through my mind. Behind my eyelids, I see her pinned beneath me moaning. On top of me, rolling those hips and screaming my name. Kneeling between my legs and staring up at me with those big doe eyes while she sucks me off with that sweet little mouth of hers.

My hips thrust into her hand and her gasp snaps me out of my perverted thoughts. Pushing off the wall, I take a step back.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, you're, uh," I clear my throat, "you're driving me crazy."

She laughs. "In a good way, I hope."

"In the best way, Bits." I brush my finger down her cheek. "Always."

"Good."

"Let me get you something to sleep in." Pulling the top drawer of my bureau open, I grab the first pair of pajamas I see. "These are probably way too big for you, but they should do the trick."

"Thanks."

Shrugging off my coat, I toss it onto a chair in the corner of my room before unclasping my cufflinks. "Bathroom is on the right."

Her footsteps pad down the hall and I hear water rushing from the faucet as I pull down my suspenders and slip off my tie. Staring out my window, I remove my dress shirt and fling it on top of my coat just before I sit on the bed to take off my shoes.

Moments later, the floor creaks and she appears in the doorway with a playful smirk on her lips, practically swimming in my pajamas. "These _are_ a little …" She holds onto the drawstring of my pants to keep them from falling.

I grin. "Huge?"

"Well, yeah." She shakes the too long sleeve dangling from her free hand. "Just a bit."

"You're still beautiful."

"You think?" Winking, she brings her hands up to pose like a pin-up girl and her pants fall in a puddle at her feet. "Oops."

My eyes slide down to her bare legs, then back up to her face. Something about her expression tells me that was no accident. My suspicions are confirmed when she kicks the pants to the side and saunters over to stand in front of me.

"Edward," she murmurs, sounding almost shy while she runs a lone finger over the neckline of my undershirt. "I want to try something."

"Anything you want, Bits."

Bringing her hands to the collar of her shirt, she holds my gaze. "Just this once." Her voice trembles as she undoes the top button. "Just for tonight." She unbuttons another. "Until our wedding night." And another. "Until I'm your wife."

"Jesus," I breathe, taking in the sight of her body once the cotton shirt slinks over her shoulders and down her arms leaving her beautifully bared to me in front of the moonlit window three stories above Chicago Avenue.

"And once we're married …" She steps forward, bringing her hands to my face.

I reach for her hips and pull her closer, wanting to feel every inch of that soft skin against me. "Once we're married?"

Ghosting her lips against mine, her words come out in a sultry whisper. "Your pleasure will be my purpose."

Six words.

That's all it takes for every single ounce of my restraint to come completely undone.

I'm on my feet in an instant, cupping her face in my hands and dipping down to crush my mouth to hers. She moans into the kiss when my palms slide down the backs of her thighs, hitching those gorgeous gams of hers around my waist.

"Edward," she pants, burying her fingers in my hair as I ease her onto the bedspread and cover her body with mine.

And I go fucking wild.

Kissing her hard, I run my hands up and down that tight little body of hers and every delicious inch of her reacts. Goosebumps erupt on her skin beneath my fingertips and those taut little tits brush against my chest.

"You're fuckin' perfect, Bits," I breathe against her throat as I slide lower down her body. "You know that?"

She hums then hisses when my tongue swirls around, teasing the tip of her nipple.

"Wanted you for so long." My hand slips between her thighs where she's warm and wet and waiting. "Just like this."

I dip my finger inside of her. In and out. Round and round. Back and forth until she's rolling those hips against my hand and panting.

"Edward, please," she purrs, reaching down to cup my cock.

And that's all it takes.

Pulling my undershirt over my head, I toss it in the corner then stand to take off my pants. I fumble with the belt buckle, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight before me. My beautiful girl, naked in the moonlight looking fucking stunning with her hair splayed out over the bed. Panting softly with her chest rising and falling, she licks her lips and squeezes together the thighs I plan on parting.

My pants hit the ground and the bed dips when I kneel between her legs, stroking myself a few times.

She stiffens when I slide the length of my dick against her, so I coo in her ear, "Relax, Bits."

Her hands grip my shoulder blades. "Edward …"

I press the tip to her opening. "I'll make you feel good."

"Ed—"

"It'll only hurt for a secon—"

"I want to wear white!"

I lean back to look at her, furrowing my brows. "What?"

"I want to wear white," she blurts again. "On our wedding day, so don't forget to, um." She looks away, embarrassed. "Take it out before you … you know."

I swear I'd kill to hear her say _come_.

"I will."

She relaxes back into the pillow and I bring my lips to hers, kissing her soft and slow as I inch my way inside. I can't hold back my groan, getting lost in the feel of sinking into her. It's better than I could've imagined, warm and wet and gripping me so fucking tight.

A small gasp, the clutch of her fingers on my back, and the tightening of her thighs around mine are the only indication she gives me of her discomfort.

"Bits?"

She's biting her lip, but she gives me a shaky nod. "I'm okay."

My eyes drift down to where we're joined. Where every inch of me is settled deep inside of her and fuck me, if being inside Bella Swan isn't the most incredible feeling in the world. I will myself not to bring her ankles to my ears and fuck her all the filthy ways I've imagined since the moment I laid eyes on her.

"Edward," she moans, reaching up to touch my face.

I grab her hand and press my lips to her knuckles to kiss the ring that made her mine. Leaning down, I tell her in a whisper that I'll love her forever.

And then I take what's mine.

* * *

Over an hour later, I'm sitting near my bedroom window, watching the plumes of smoke hit the glass and staring at some stragglers stumble home from wherever they rang in the New Year. I smile as I snuff out my cigarette and glance back at the gorgeous, naked, sleeping girl curled up beneath my covers. Bits stirs a little when I climb in the bed before tucking herself tightly to my side. My eyes fall closed and I grin, thinking how swell 1955 is shaping up to be.

Not even ten minutes later, the shrill ring of the telephone echoes through my apartment and just like that, 1955 goes from swell to shit lickety-split.

* * *

 **A/N: *Lay stares at Carrie ZM as she switches from the Single Ladies dance to full-on Magic Mike Pony routine***

 **And speaking of exotic dancing ... I've got a fun one to let WIP this week:**

 **Right Where I Want to Be by meteoronamoonlessnight -** **Bella is an exotic dancer, and she loves her job. Edward is a millionaire with a savior complex who needs to rescue Bella. She doesn't want to be rescued, but she does want Edward for the things he does to her body. When she discovers his issues run deeper than she ever thought, will she accept him for what he can offer, or will she walk away? Drabble**

 **Ugh… lemons are hard. But Carrie and I were chatting about our personal pervy faves and now we'd like to hear from you - what is your fave lemon scene from a fic? #showusyourperveswerve**

 **Also, GOT fans, I loved hearing your thoughts on bending the knee (in all variations and even some dirty cave drawings). Sound off on this one - Sir Jorah - does anyone wish he'd get out of the friend-zone? Just for a minute? Just the tip? Or is it just me?**

 **Hugs and huge thanks to Tarbecca over at ADF for putting Burning Saints up on the Fic Dive!**

 **Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted, or lurked this fic! I'll see you next Thursday!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
** **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **Wednesday, March 14, 1956  
** **11:58 PM**

I tap the crime scene photo. "Did you guys ever find out who killed Sally?"

Glasses shakes his head. "No one saw anything."

"New Year's Eve on Rush Street? Come on, what're you kiddin' me?"

"A bunch of drunks ain't exactly the best group of witnesses. From what we can tell, the assailant pulled up, fired, and fled the scene."

I push the pictures of Sally back across the table. "It's a damn shame."

"So you're saying you think he was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time then?"

 _I'm not saying shit_. "Had to be. Sally was one of the good ones."

* * *

 **January 1955**

My aunt's sobs echo through the viewing room. Clutching her heart, she clings to my uncle, who's standing stoically beside her in front of Sal's casket. My mother and Bella pull her away from the coffin, whispering words of support.

The family is on high alert and has been ever since we all got the early morning phone call that Sally got clipped. Several of the old timers huddle in the back of the room speaking quietly. Probably speculating on who did what and why, while the younger fellas eagerly await the action that's sure to come.

"Edward," Uncle C calls and jerks his head towards the back. "Grab Emmett and Paulie, have them meet me downstairs in the embalming room."

Nodding, I motion for the other two to follow me. This'll be the second time my uncle and I have spoken amongst the dead.

The heavy stench of death and formaldehyde hit me as soon as I open the door. There my uncle waits with his hands shoved in his pockets, leaning against a counter.

"Christ," Paulie complains, placing his finger beneath his nose and eyeing the portly naked woman laid out on the mortician's table.

"So?" Uncle C crosses his arms over his chest. "What do we know?"

Unable to help himself, Paulie slaps the flabby tit of the deceased before facing my uncle. "I talked to my connection over in the ninth district. He said no one saw anything, but the spray of bullets was too wide for Sally to be the only intended target."

"No shit," Emmett mutters. "If Sally didn't push my old man outta the way, we'd be wakin' _him_ tonight. Tell us somethin' we don't know."

Paulie reaches in his pocket and flips a bullet casing at Em.

Catching it, Em pinches it between his thumb and forefinger. "What's this?"

"That's a round from a _Makorov_."

My uncle's brow rises. "Russians?"

Paulie nods. "Yep."

 _Fuck._

A knock sounds from the door and Aro steps inside, though no one acknowledges him.

"I thought we handled that situation a few months ago." Em tosses the bullet to me.

"I thought we did too." Paulie rubs the back of his neck. "They're like fuckin' roaches."

"Chopper," Uncle C points to Aro, "I want you to go find our friend Nikolai on Maxwell Street and see what he knows." He sniffs and waves a finger at the rest of us. "Until we know anything, we stay alert and keep a low profile, understand?"

We all agree with a nod.

"Em, you tell your capos to stay outta the streets. Have them tell the crews to be fuckin' cautious. Other than that, it's business as usual. Any questions?"

We're all silent for a beat until Aro speaks up.

"Where was Philly?"

My uncle half-shrugs. "He came earlier tonight to pay his respects."

"I mean the night that Sally got clipped."

Uncle C widens his arms. "I already told you, he can't be seen with us too much with his trial comin' up."

I glance at Aro who looks like he's got more to say. My uncle may not be interested in hearing it, but I am.

"Like I said," Uncle C continues, "we keep a low profile." Just as I turn to head back, I hear my uncle's fingers snap. "Edward, wait."

I stay back, watching the others file out of the room.

Pulling a gun from his waistband, he offers it to me. "Keep this on you at all times, kid."

I inspect the piece, feeling its weight in the palm of my hand and watching as the light gleams off the metal. "Should I be anticipatin' a problem?"

"Your last name is Cullen, kid. Your guard should always be up."

"True."

"Now listen, I need you to stay on my election interests. You and that dolly you got on your arm, you hear me?"

I nod.

"Now's the time to start usin' that leverage. Understand?"

"I'll take care of it."

* * *

Leverage in the hands of a capable man will almost always put him in a position of power. Conversely, leverage in the hands of women like my mother and Bitsy can make them damn near unstoppable.

I'm ninety-nine percent sure that my ma made Monsignor Caius piss himself when she stormed into his office at the diocese, demanding to see the ledgers of how much the Cullen family has given to the church over the years. Being told 'no' never sits right with my mother. And being told the church won't bump another wedding for her son's - fucking forget about it. Needless to say, once the Monsignor reviewed our generous contributions, my fiancée got the wedding day of her choice and my mother got a letter of apology from the Cardinal for the misunderstanding. I imagine she's probably disappointed she didn't get one from the Pope himself, though.

My mother likes to shoot from the hip, but Bits' style is fairly low-key. It's a little more refined and a lot more subtle, but highly effective nonetheless.

I think the first time I noticed is when we were standing on the dance floor of the grand ballroom at the Hilton. I remember watching my girl's eyes travel up from the floor-to-ceiling windows to the ornate gold and crystal chandeliers while the pushy lady with the clipboard fielded all her mother's questions.

"I like this one," Bitsy murmurs, toeing the marble beneath her feet.

Giving her hand a squeeze to let her know I heard her, I lean down. "This the one you want, Bits?"

She grins and looks at her father. "It is."

Judge Swan sniffs and runs his fingers down his mustache as he reads the pricing sheet. I can tell by his expression that he has a 'fuck no' on the tip of his tongue, but then he looks up.

"Daddy." His name comes out soft and unassuming, but weighted with expectation. With a slow blink and a tilt of her head, she repeats her words. "I _like_ this one."

Sighing, her old man takes out his checkbook and she kisses his cheek.

I swear I've never heard a shakedown sound so sweet.

* * *

Three weeks later, I'm in my office with my feet propped up and reading the _Sun Times_ when I hear two quick raps on my door. My new battleaxe secretary, whose name I can never remember, pops her head in. "There's a Ms. Swan here to see you."

I sit up and shove the newspaper in a drawer. "Send her in."

Bella appears moments later, smiling and shrugging off her coat. "Is this a good time?"

"Of course." I stand. "Always have time for you, Bits."

Closing the door behind her, she tosses her coat and her pocketbook on the chair and points out my window. "What a view!"

The dress she's wearing hugs every curve and I have to agree. "Sure is."

Her lips twist when she catches my drift. "Such a kidder."

"What'cha doin' in my neck of the woods?"

"Lunch with my parents."

Plopping down on my lap, she gives me a smooch and runs her fingers through my hair. "I missed you."

I whirl the chair around so we're facing the city. "Missed you too."

Her fingers trail down my neck to my tie. "Rose called me last night."

"Oh yeah? What'd she say?"

"Well," she starts as her hand slips down over my stomach, "do you remember that house a few blocks from hers that I said I liked?"

 _No. Not at all._ Not even a little bit, because all I can focus on is her fingertip moving lower and lower until she's circling it around the head of my cock and I can't help but blurt, " _Yeah_."

"The ranch on Franklin, not the Craftsman on Ashland."

Still no clue, but she's sucking my earlobe and rubbing me softly over my pants. "Uh huh." My eyes close when she goes for my zipper. "Yeah."

"All brick."

 _Fuck, I'm hard_. "Yeah."

She places my hand on her tit and squeezes. "Three bedrooms."

"Ah, Christ," I groan when she reaches into my boxers.

"Two bathrooms," she whispers before dropping a few open mouth kisses down my neck.

I feel her nipple harden against my palm. "Mmm."

Wrapping her fingers around me, she gets a good grip and jerks it slow. "A big kitchen for me."

"Yessss."

Her voice is breathy. "An office for you."

I go for the buttons on her shirt and admire her cleavage. "Nice."

"There's a garage."

 _I wanna see 'em in broad daylight._

"And a tool shed in the back."

I pull down the cups and _fuck_ they're spectacular.

"Fenced-in yard."

"Mmm," I moan around a mouthful. "Yeah."

"It'll be perfect."

 _They are perfect._

"Edward." Her voice goes baby soft and she picks up speed, stroking my length hard and fast.

Tipping my head back, I squeeze my eyes shut and roll her nipples beneath my thumbs. "Bits."

"I want it," she coos against my neck.

"Yeah."

Moving faster, she begs, "Mmm, please."

"Yeah."

"I want it."

Blood rushes to my ears and all I can hear is the soft clap of her hand on my cock and her murmuring sweet nothings in my ear.

"Tell me I can have it."

"Yessssss," I hiss, grabbing my handkerchief from my pocket and placing it over my cock, but she doesn't stop and neither does her mouth.

"Please." Her tongue traces my jaw. "I want it."

Burying my head into the crook of her neck, I nip at the soft skin and grunt out a long and satisfied _yes_.

She fucking giggles. "Really?"

I look up. "Huh?"

"We can get it?" She presses her palm to my cheek, and I swear I see a sparkle in her eyes. "The house on Franklin?"

It takes me a second to come out of my stupor. This girl's got me outta breath, seein' stars and sitting here with a hankie full of spunk and now she's asking me for a what? "The house on Franklin?"

Nodding, she gums those smudged red lips and blinks real slow. "Uh huh." She presses her hands together like she praying and rests them right between her tits. "Please."

 _Like I could tell her no_. "I'll make an appointment to see it."

She beams and pecks me on the lips. "Thank you."

Straightening her clothing, she kisses me again and heads over to the couch to grab her compact out of her pocketbook while I pull myself together. "Bits?"

Wiping off her lipstick, she doesn't look up from her mirror. "Hmm?"

"I think this kind of visit should be a weekly thing."

"Do you, now?" She winks and reapplies the stain, smacking her lips when she's done.

"I do." I toss the handkerchief in my wastebasket. "It'll be the highlight of my work week."

Grabbing her coat, she saunters back to my desk and wipes the lipstick from around my mouth. "I'd like that."

"Perhaps," I kiss her and cop a quick feel, "it should be an after-hours visit?"

"Sure," she places her fingertip beneath my chin and plants a loud smooch on me. "Once I'm your wife, of course."

 _Fuck_. "Of course."

* * *

Two months, a down payment on a house, several hand jobs and a near blow-job later, I'm almost convinced that my girl is serious about this no-fucking-before-the-wedding thing. Foolishly, I'd hoped that we'd make love on the floor of our new home after I shook the realtor's hand. _Nope_. Or maybe she'd want to lei me when I flashed the plane tickets and brochures from the travel agent for our honeymoon in Hawaii. _Also a no_. So imagine my surprise when one Sunday after church, she strips down on her way back to my bedroom.

"Oh God," she moans from beneath me with her arms pinned and her legs spread. Gripping my hands tight, she squeezes those thighs around mine and lets me take her the way I want to.

I grunt against her neck and thrust hard, relishing the fact that her pussy is just as tight as I remember. Slick and hot and so fucking good.

"Ugh, Edward." She locks her ankles around my waist. "Don't forget."

The headboard squeaks with each slap of skin and I like the sound of it so much that I fuck her faster until my movements are choppy and shallow and rough.

"Wanna wear white," she pants.

Closing my eyes, I nod. "I won't knock you up, Bits." I slam inside again, making her yelp. "Promise."

Several minutes later, I'm lighting a cig while Bella comes back in from the bathroom. Squinting, I inhale deeply and watch her crawl back onto the rumpled bed. My eyes roam up over her every curve to those pouty, swollen lips until I meet her bedroom eyes.

"Hi," she whispers, straddling my waist.

Exhaling out the side of my mouth, I run my hand over the top of her thigh. " _Hi?_ "

She wraps her arms around her chest and turns away shy.

"Look at me, Bitsy." Those pretty brown eyes dart to mine. "What happened to waiting for the wedding?"

Shrugging one shoulder, she lets her hands drop. "Maybe I just wanted to."

I laugh. "I've _been_ wanting to."

"I know." She smirks. "But something Father Francis said at Pre-Cana got me thinking."

I take a long drag and hold it. "Remind me to put some extra cash in the offering next week."

She pokes my stomach. "Be serious."

I raise my palm. "I am, hand to God."

"Anyway, today when he was talking about honesty and expectations."

My fingers creep up her stomach as I blow out the smoke. "Uh huh."

"I think it's a good idea for us to have this discussion."

"About what?"

"Honest expectations for our marriage."

"And what does that have to do with you breakin' your little vow of chastity?"

"Well," she tilts her head and presses her tits together, "I've found that you're a little more … _open_ this way."

"Am I?"

"Mm hmm." She nods. "And I figured it's something that we _should_ discuss."

"Expectations?"

"Yes."

"All right, then." I reach over and snuff out my smoke. "I'll go first." My hands go back to her thighs. "I expect to wake up with you each mornin' with a smile on your face and preferably naked from the night before."

She laughs.

"I like my coffee black, my eggs –"

"Over easy."

"Yep, and my bacon crispy." My fingertips travel higher. "I like to read my paper and drink my coffee in silence before I shower. Shirts, light starch. Clothes laid out." I wave a finger. "You don't have to polish my shoes though. I prefer to do that myself."

"Okay."

"Evening paper on my desk at night when I get home with three fingers of Glen in a glass."

"Dinner by six?"

I nod. "And you naked again by seven."

"What about babies?"

"I wouldn't mind a few kids. You?"

"Definitely. A manageable number, though."

"Wanna keep your figure?"

"I want to keep my sanity."

I snort. "What else do ya' expect?"

"I expect," her hands slide up my stomach, "unwavering loyalty."

"Of course."

"And for you to be faithful." She looks me in the eye. "No matter what."

"No matter what, Bits."

"I mean it, Edward. I can't ..."

"Can't what?"

"I can't be like my mother. I won't."

"What do you mean?"

"Always turning a blind eye to my father and his little floozy." Looking down at her hands, she smoothes them over my ribs. "I'll never settle for that life."

Fearful of incriminating myself for knowing about her dad, I keep quiet and let her get this off her chest.

"On one hand, I get why she stays. She's the one who made him what he is today."

"How so?"

"Don't you know?" She smiles. "My mother's the one who was born with the silver spoon in her mouth long before she had the stick up her ass."

I don't mean to, but I laugh.

"Their marriage was practically arranged. His brains and reputation. Her good name and connections. He was driven, but she had vision and ambition enough for the both of them." She shrugs. "And for that alone, she'll never leave him. I suppose it makes sense."

"It'll never happen, Bits." Her gaze moves to mine. "I'll be good to you, no matter what."

She mouths a thank you.

"What else?"

With a lick of her lips, she squares her shoulders and sits up. "Honesty."

"Always."

"About _everything."_ Shifting her heat over my cock, I almost miss how dangerous the word _everything_ comes out. Even when she says it sugary sweet.

"Of course."

Rocking her hips, she leans forward and whispers, "I want to know what you _are_."

Expressionless, I keep my eyes on hers. "I don't know what you mean."

Smirking, she traces a small circle over my heart. "Sure you do."

"I'm your fiancé."

"You're _a Cullen_."

"And?"

Lightly scratching down my stomach, she hums. "You're name is synonymous with a certain … organization."

"The railroad?"

" _The Outfit."_

I roll my eyes. "Bitsy, please."

"I'm going to be your wife." She shifts over me again. "And I promise you, Edward, you'll have my love and every ounce of my loyalty."

"I already do."

"And you'll have my _silence_."

"Bella."

"I want to be able to protect you. You just have to let me in."

"This is—"

"This is what _I_ need. _This_ is my expectation."

We both go quiet for several moments, our stares never wavering.

"What if we do it a different way?"

My brow rises.

"What if I ask a question and you can answer if you want to, but if you don't, I'll take your silence as an indication that I'm right?"

"This seems unnecessary."

"It's necessary to _me_."

"What if you don't like what you hear?" _Or don't hear._

"I'll love you anyway."

"How can you be so sure you will?"

"How can _you_ be so sure I won't?"

Blowing out a breath, I relent. "Fine. Go ahead. Ask."

"Are you?"

"Am I what, Bits? Be specific."

"Are you a member the Outfit?"

The lie is on the tip of my tongue, but I say nothing.

"What do you do?"

I don't answer.

"Specific. Right, um. Are you paid to kill people?"

I shake my head.

"Have you killed anyone?"

I want to deny it, but I can't.

Her eyes widen. "Who? How many?"

The words rush out of my mouth. "No one who didn't deserve it."

Her brows furrow and she purses her lips, staring at her fingers for several moments before looking up. "Okay."

The corner of my lip quirks up and I admit, I'm somewhat amused at how well she's taking it. "Okay?"

She nods.

"Lemme ask you a question. What do _you_ think I do?"

"I'm not exactly sure."

"Take your best guess."

Pulling her bottom lip with her teeth, she ponders this for a minute. "Well, I don't think you're some henchman or anything."

I laugh and shake my head. "Not at all."

"But I don't think you're chairman of the board either." She turns my hand over and presses her palm to mine. "You command respect wherever you go though, that's for sure. Especially among the aldermen and city officials."

 _That's fear, sweetheart_.

"Your uncle and Emmett too." Her eyes narrow. "They seem to hold your opinion in high regard and seek your favor."

I shrug.

"An advisor, maybe?"

My silence confirms her suspicions and a grin spreads wide across her face.

"I knew it."

"How?"

"I noticed it one of the first times I saw you interacting with your uncle and his … _friends_. You were friendly, but aloof. Always observing. Always aware." She touches her ear. "Always listening for what's being said around you." Leaning down, she presses a kiss to my chest. "And even what's not being said."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mmm hmm."

"So now that you know." I tip her chin up to face me. "Spousal privilege will make it so you don't have to testify against me, but even so, there's a phrase I want you to commit to memory."

"Okay."

"Repeat after me. _I plead the fifth_."

* * *

 **April 23, 1955**

Three days after a certain fat Irishman clocks in for his first day of work as the mayor of Chicago, I stand at the altar of The Shrine of Our Lady of Pompeii and watch as the not-so-honorable Judge Swan walks my beautiful bride down the aisle. Covered in white lace, she beams when he lifts her veil and hesitantly places her hand in mine.

She's a fucking vision, and Christ, do I love this woman. While the priest breaks the host and the choir sings, I bow my head and thank the Lord for overlooking some of the terrible shit I've done in my life and choosing her for me. There before God and our families, Isabella Swan becomes Mrs. Edward Cullen and I become the luckiest bastard in the city of Chicago.

Afterwards, we celebrate. Drinks, dinner, dancing - the works for my new bride. Hours later, I carry her over the threshold of our hotel suite. She loses the lace and comes to bed in a sheer little number that makes my jaw drop and my dick hard.

I lay her down and reaffirm my promise to love her forever. In return, she shows me that she still intends to make good on _her_ promise that my pleasure will be her purpose.

And it'll be my pleasure to hold her to it.

* * *

 **A/N: Busy week, pals. School is back in session which has Care and I running around like crazy people. We didn't get to WIP this week, so tell us what we should be reading!**

 **Also, riddle us this - Care and I were talking about secondary characters from fics that we love and maybe it became a conversation of which secondary characters we'd bang, but that's neither here nor there. So sound off - who's your fave secondary character from a fanfic? Which fic and why? Full disclosure - I will be shocked and appalled if Aro from the Storm Series is not on several people's list - that man ... hubba, hubba.**

 **Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted, or lurked this fic! I'll see you next Thursday!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
** **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **Thursday, March 15, 1956  
** **12:06 AM**

Glasses cocks his head to the side and thumbs through his file. "Things got quiet for a while, didn't they?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"After Sal Torello met his maker, the Outfit had an uneventful few months."

"I wouldn't know. I already told you, I'm not a member of the Outfit."

The door to the interrogation room swings open and Slick slips back in, slumping in his seat like a kid who just got a beating.

Pushing his specs up, Glasses continues. "But things got hairy in June though, didn't they?" He drops pictures of Frankie Big Features and Mickey the Hump on the table. "July too." Next, he slides over the crime scene photos from the deaths of Anthony Fat Knees and that little roach, Skinny Vinnie from Taylor Street.

"You catch any of the guys responsible for these ones?"

"We haven't." He slaps one more picture of a crime scene down on the table. It's the one I knew was coming and the only one of these that I'm actually responsible for. I still can't say I regret it though. "One of these two was a friend of yours though, right?"

"Yeah, I knew him. Great guy." _Also a great big pain in my ass._

Slick takes the photo and winces. "Man, that's a hell of a way to go."

* * *

 **July 1955**

"What was the name of the drink we had in Maui?" Bitsy asks, resting a calming hand on my forearm trying to subtly keep me from reaching across the table and stabbing my cousin in the throat with my fork.

I swallow my steak, but don't look up from my plate. "Mai Tai."

"That's it." She snaps her fingers. "A mai tai. Rose, I'm telling you, it's heavenly."

"Emmett promised he'd take me to Hawaii one of these days." I look up to see Rose batting her lashes at her husband, but he's too busy shoveling his food in his mouth like a goddamn Neanderthal.

My wife rubs my leg beneath the table. "It was _amazing_."

She's right, it was amazing and I'd give my left nut to be back there on the beach, getting fresh with Bits under an umbrella. But things are too screwy right now to be distracted by memories of pineapple-flavored-kisses and her tan-lined tits bouncing while she rode me.

After receiving the phone call last night about Vinnie getting his brains bashed in with a mallet, my cousin is fit to be tied. It's the fourth one of our guys that's pushing up daisies in the past two months. Uncle C is in Havana, looking after his interests and getting a little R&R with my aunt, leaving Em here to handle things. Wanting to prove himself to his father and the crews is understandable, but he's considering going to war with the Russian mob without the appropriate amount of manpower … and that's just suicide.

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Rose grabs her wine glass and motions towards our kitchen. "Bella, let's go get the lava cake ready to serve the fellas."

Dabbing the corners of her mouth, Bits excuses herself. "Yes, of course."

Em and I stand as the girls leave the table. They're barely out of the dining room when he starts in on me.

"Four fuckin' guys, Ed." He holds out his fingers to illustrate. "Four on my watch."

"I understand, bu—"

"But nothin'!" The silverware and plates clank when his fist slams down. "I'm not gonna sit around with my thumb up my ass while a bunch of Commies take my guys out one by one."

"I agree, but you can't –"

Leaning forward, he speaks through clenched teeth. "I can and I will."

"Listen." I keep my voice low as I toss my napkin on the table. "We're gonna take care of this, but you need to calm down and use your fuckin' head. We don't have enough guys to go to war right now."

"We need to act!"

"You _need_ a fuckin' plan, Em. Now listen to me, let's think this through. You grab a few soldiers and what? What're you gonna do, huh? Lure 'em out with a Molotov Cocktail and pick 'em off one by one in the streets?"

"That's one way to do it."

"Nah. I don't think so. The last thing we need now is exposure. We're bein' watched, Em."

"By who?"

"What do you mean, who? Fuckin' everybody's waitin' to see what you do here. The cops would love to collar a Cullen."

"I'd be out by morning, who else?"

"How about other crews, huh? You don't think those pig fuckers in Indy and K.C. wouldn't love to pick up our scraps? What about New York?"

"Fuck New York!" He points a finger at me. "And fuck _you_ if you think you know how to run this thing better than me."

I widen my arms. "I'm not sayin' I could run it better than you, but I ain't a yes man, Em. I'm not gonna sit here and lick your privates and tell you that you're makin' a good call when you're not. You want someone to stroke your dick, you go to 18th Street. You want someone who's got _your_ best interest in mind then you gotta get your head outta your ass and fuckin' listen."

"Who's ready for dessert?" Bitsy sing-songs, pushing open the door from the kitchen while Rose carries in the cake behind her.

"We gotta go."

"We do?" Rose sounds confused, but gets smart when her husband gives her a look. "Oh, right. We do. Gotta get the baby from my mother's house."

I make a mental note to have Em teach her about spousal privilege and pleading the fifth. She'd be a nightmare on the witness stand.

The girls say their goodbyes and hug like they won't be on the phone twenty minutes from now. Em kisses Bella's cheek and thanks her for the meal. Shaking my hand on his way out, he stares at me with hardened eyes.

"I'll give you until noon tomorrow to come up with somethin'. If you don't, the only thing Russian left standing in this city will be the tea room."

Nodding, I close the door behind him and make my way back to my study.

Bits points to the platter. "Want any of this cake?"

"No thanks. Full."

She gives me a sympathetic smile. "All right."

Thirty minutes later, I'm polishing off my second scotch and staring at an old city of Chicago paperweight my dad used to keep on his desk like it'll give me some answers.

"You'll have to forgive me," Bella says from the doorway. "I'm slipping on my wifely duties."

"Not at all."

She holds up the evening paper. "I forgot to put this on your desk earlier."

I laugh and beckon her over with a finger. "Well, you had the scotch ready at six, so I'll let it slide."

Slapping the newspaper down on my desk, she runs a finger down one of the pictures. "Man, that's tall."

"What's that?"

"The new Prudential Building." She traces the length of the building again. "Forty-two stories."

"That's a long way down."

"Splat!" she yells with a clap.

"Splat, huh?"

"Well could you imagine? Falling from that far up?"

"Nope."

"I wonder if you'd even be recognizable afterwards."

"Wouldn't matter." I pat the top of my thigh for her to come have a seat. "You'd be dead and some poor fuck from the city would have to scrape you off of Randolph Street."

Shrugging one shoulder, she takes a seat on my lap. "It'd be a hell of a headline."

I grin. "Who you thinkin' of tossin' off a buildin', Bits?"

"No one." Her fingers find my hair, scratching my temples just the way I like. "My days of justifiable homicide are done."

The comment is said offhanded enough, but it's her wording that has me curious. "Justifiable homicide?"

"Mmm hmm." Wetting her lips, she nods. "Sometimes these things are necessary."

"Am I aiding and abetting a felon?"

She kisses my nose. "You are."

"Who'd you clip?"

"I don't know if I can remember their names. It's been ages since I've even thought of them."

" _Them_?"

"Oh yes. Two of them."

"What'd they do?

" _They_ did nothing. Sometimes these things are simply done out of necessity."

"These things? My God," my hand covers her knee, "you sound like a hardened criminal."

"Sure am, and at the tender age of nine, no less."

"I would've never pegged ya' for a juvenile delinquent."

She gives me a smooch. "I'd only be a delinquent if I got caught."

"Let's hear it."

"Have you ever been to Riverview Park?"

"The amusement park?"

"Yep."

"Not since I was a kid."

"Well I remember one Sunday after church, my father took me and the daughter of one of his law firm partners. At the time, he was trying to secure an election endorsement, and my mother thought that forcing a friendship between me and the partner's daughter, Mary Alice, was just the ticket." Clucking her tongue, she rolls her eyes. "Anyway, there was this game where you threw ping pong balls into glass bowls with small goldfish floating in them. I told Mary Alice I had my sights set on the fat one with the dark orange stripe. I spent nearly two-dollars trying to win it."

"Your old man could've bought all the goldfish in the joint for that kinda money."

"This is true." She gets the faraway look on her face and her fingers toy with her pearls. "But I _really_ wanted that one."

"So she snatched it out from under you, huh?"

"She did and then she made the mistake of throwing it in my face."

"She was gloatin' about it?"

"Yep _._ Cooing at it with her fake baby voice and acting like she even wanted it in the first place."

"Did you win one?"

"Yes, but it was scrawny and gross and probably days from death anyway."

"So you helped it along?"

"I did. Although, to be fair, I wouldn't have if she wasn't going out of her way to get my goat."

I chuckle. "What'd you do?"

"On our way home, we were in the back seat of my father's car. She fell asleep, so I took a bobby pin from my hair and poked a hole in the seam of her fish's bag, then one in mine too."

"You're ruthless."

"I pretended to be asleep until she woke up and started sobbing." Bitsy's lips turn up into a sneer. "She bawled like a baby when she saw him laying there motionless. I got the waterworks going too, but more for my father's benefit."

"So you off'd them both just to spite her?"

"No. I off'd hers to teach her a lesson and I offed _mine_ to maintain my innocence."

"Smart cookie."

"Sometimes those kinds of sacrifices need to be made." She shrugs. "Otherwise people will walk all over you."

My hand slips beneath the hem of her skirt. "You're probably right."

Rubbing her thumbs over my temples, she speaks softly. "Everything okay with you and Emmett?"

 _Nope_. "We're fine."

"Rose said he's been out of sorts for weeks."

"Yeah, well, can ya' blame him?" She shakes her head. "Me neither."

"But you shouldn't let him take it out on you."

I laugh even though nothing about this is funny. "Bits, he's the _boss_ , he can take it out on anyone he wants. You're over here actin' like I got any power in this situation and I don't."

She hums and kisses me full on the lips before whispering, "I think you do." Bringing her mouth to my ear, she gently nibbles on the lobe. "You have _all_ the power and you just don't know it."

"How do you figure?"

Her tongue moves down my throat. "You have what he lacks." She sucks at the skin. "What he needs more now than ever. Something that trumps power any day."

"Oh yeah?" My eyes fall closed as she sinks to her knees and rakes her long nails down my chest. "And what's that?"

Her fingers land on my belt buckle then slide down to palm my dick. " _Influenc_ e."

I blow out a breath and groan at the sound of the zipper being lowered. "Influence?"

"Mmm hmm." Reaching inside my drawers, she grips my length and pulls it out. "He may be the one calling the shots." She kisses the tip softly. "But behind the scenes, you're laying out the game plan."

"Jesus." I bury my fingers in her hair and guide those gorgeous red lips down my cock. She looks up at me with her big, brown eyes and teases me with every twist and swipe of that pretty pink tongue. "So good."

And that's the God's honest truth. My Bitsy is good at a great many things, but until recently, blowjobs weren't one of them.

Nowadays she's got my eyes rolling to the back of my head in four minutes flat. Not today though. As good as that hot little mouth feels bobbing up and down my shaft, her words have me distracted. I stare straight ahead at the paperweight, eyeing an area of town that we've never done business in.

But we will now, because I have a plan.

When she's done, I pat Bits on the tush, give her a kiss and send her to bed. Once she's out of earshot, I get on the horn to my cousin.

"Meet me on the roof of the Orchid in an hour."

* * *

Bursting through the roof access door, Emmett comes at me with his arms wide. "What the fuck, Ed? This couldn't wait until mornin'?"

"I thought you wanted a solution?"

"I do, but I wanna sleep too. I've got a newborn keepin' me up half the night as it is."

"So listen." I flick the cherry off of my cigarette and toss it over the side of the building. "I'm thinkin' I've got somethin' that'll fix our little problem."

"Yeah? Let's hear it."

Exhaling deeply, I look out over the city. "Fine, but you gotta swear you'll hear me out."

"That sounds promising."

I level him with a glare. "You wanna hear it or not?"

"Go ahead."

"So last week, Paulie and I are at Woolworth's lunch counter grabbin' a bite and he's bitchin' and moanin' about some scumbag flesh peddler who's stiffed him on some gamblin' debts."

"How much?"

"A few grand."

Em whistles low. "Why doesn't he handle the problem?"

"Because the _problem_ is Laurent Jeffries."

"Who? Lay Low Jeffries?"

"Yep."

"So the fuck what? He should handle him like any other low-life pussy peddler."

"He would if Lay Low wasn't the right hand man to Big Marcus V out of Bronzeville."

"Get outta here."

"Those two are like this." I cross my fingers. "Word from the bird is that they're like brothers."

"Untouchable, huh?"

"Yep."

"All right, so what does Lay Low have to do with the Russian fucks?"

"Three days ago in the Sun Times there was a blurb about a disturbance at the docks. I overheard Nicky Numb Nuts tellin' Felix that Big Marcus' guys exchanged gunfire with the Kremlin crew."

"That's no surprise that we're not the only ones who's got a problem with the Commies. So what?"

"Don't you think they're itchin' for an excuse to take 'em out?"

"Probably." He cocks his head to the side. "So wait, are you sayin' you want me to bring Big Marcus and his guys into this? Cause not for nothin', we don't have a relationship with the fellas in Bronzeville."

"Do they have access to docks?"

"Yeah."

"Do they have gambling operations that we ain't gettin' a cut of?"

"Yeah."

"Then don't you think we _should_ have a relationship with the Bronzeville crew?"

He waves me off before reaching into his pocket to grab his smokes. "So what? We're gonna show up at Big Marcus' door and tell him to fall in line?"

"Nope."

"Then what?"

Lolling my head back and forth, I shove my hands in my pockets. "Here's the part of the plan you may have a problem with."

His arms go wide again. "If I'm not gonna like it then why the fuck am I here?"

"Because it's an absolute necessity."

"What is it?"

"A small sacrifice."

He strikes a match and the flame lights his face as he inhales deeply. "A _what_?"

I point out into the distance at the forty-two story skyscraper Bits showed me in the paper. "See that building there?"

"Yeah."

"What would you do if someone close to you was tossed off that building?"

He blows out the smoke. "I'd probably tear the fuckin' city apart until I found the cats responsible."

"And what do you think Big Marcus would do if one of his nearest and dearest got pushed to his death?"

Shrugging, he flicks his cig. "I suppose he'd do the same."

"Okay, so … what if _both_ of you had guys thrown from that building? At the exact same time?"

His head snaps to mine and I can see his mind working, finally using that big head of his. "That could work."

"Marcus would be motivated to help us solve our mutual problem."

He grins. "And we'd have the manpower to go to war."

"Exactly. We'd just need to sacrifice one of our own."

"Easy, let's go grab that buck-toothed fuck from Lawndale, Richie The Beaver."

"Nah, you wouldn't piss on him if he were on fire. It's gotta be someone you're close to. Someone that you're actually fond of." I rub a hand over my jaw. "Someone you care about enough to tear this city apart for."

"What, like one of the capos? Because I can't clip–"

"No."

"You aren't talkin' about my dad are you?"

"Fuck no!"

"Then who do you have in mind, Ed?"

"Someone who brings very little to the organization moneywise." His brow furrows and I can tell he hasn't caught on, so I give him another hint. "Someone who holds no position of power," I wave a hand in his direction, "other than his proximity to _you_."

His expression hardens when he realizes who I'm talking about and he looks away. "No."

"Em—"

"I said _no_!"

"Listen, he's a good guy, but he's fuckin' useless. Wheelmen are a dime a dozen."

"He's a fuckin' _friend_."

"Was he your fuckin' friend when he lost the huge payout from the Sox game last week? Huh?" I dip my head, daring him to answer. "You told him to take it to the safe at the Orchid and he left it in the car so he could fill his fat fuckin' gullet with meatloaf and stare at some lunch lady's tits."

"I can't."

"Anyone else would've got a beatin' at the very least, Em. Now, I get it. He's your friend, but _this_ is business. You've got a wife and kid to think about now. Those Russian fucks won't hesitate to eradicate us through any means necessary and that includes women and children 'cause they don't have any honor." I tick off my fingers. "Our wives, your son, your –"

His cig is on the ground and he's got me by the collar before I can even finish my sentence. "You think I don't know that?" Looking at me with crazy eyes, he tightens his grip and grits his teeth. "Huh? You think I can sleep a fuckin' wink knowin' how easy they could get to us and our families?"

"Then you need to do what needs to be done! End this shit, right now. His life for theirs." Pushing me back, he lets me go and places his head in his hands. I lower my voice. "It's the right thing to do."

"It's not." His words come out strained, somewhere between rage and anguish as he presses his palms against his eyes. Stepping over to the ledge, he looks out over the city for a few minutes before dropping his chin to his chest in defeat. "This ain't right, Ed."

Widening my stance, I clasp my hands in front of me and start to wonder if maybe Bits was wrong about this influence business. "It's up to you. We could go to war right now if you want." I take a few steps to stand beside him by the ledge. "Hell, there's a chance that we could come out on top in all of this. But at the end of the day, you've gotta ask yourself if the end justifies the means. Will it be worth it? All the casualties—"

"I know."

"All the money and territory at stake if this doesn't shake out the way you hope."

"I know. I get it. You're right." Taking a deep breath, he stands to his full height and looks over at me. "So, what's the plan?"

* * *

The following evening, Em, Benny, and I are in the back room at Gene and Georgetti. Benny's drinking Canadian Club and enjoying his last supper while Em reminisces, telling his favorite stories of his fat-bellied friend. The conversation turns to business and my cousin offers Benny the opportunity to repay him for that scratch from the Sox game.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, he speaks low. "After dinner, you and Ed are gonna head down to the whore house on Clark. Go around the back though the garden entrance. There should be a cat there goes by the name Lay Low. You tell him you got a client in the car that's interested in some strange. Once you get him outside, you make him comfortable in the trunk, but make sure no one sees you, understand?"

Benny nods. "All right."

"Ed will give you directions from there on out, you got it?"

"Got it. I won't mess up this time."

Em claps his back and pulls him in for a hug. "I know you won't, pal."

Forty-five minutes later, Benny's dragging a tired from struggling Lay Low to the edge of the building forty-two stories above Chicagoland.

I hold out the Makorov pistol. "Shoot him in the chest and make sure he goes over the ledge."

Benny pulls the trigger and steps to the edge to watch Lay Low Jeffries take the ride of his life.

"Gimme the gun."

Handing it over without question, he never even takes his eyes off of Lay Low's dead body plummeting to the ground.

"See ya, Benny."

Turning to his name, his eyes go wide when he sees the barrel of the gun pointed at his head.

I fire.

He falls.

And just like always, I feel nothing.

* * *

 **A/N: So … that happened.**

 **Another crazy, WIP-less week for us. Carrie's workin' hard for the money (so hard for it honey) and I'm stuck in a funk at the thought of no new Game of Thrones episodes for two years. TWO WHOLE YEARS. *sighs***

 **So here's a question for you … if there were a fanfic contest you'd like to see come back – which one would it be?**

 **Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted, or lurked this fic! I'll see you next Thursday!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
** **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **Thursday, March 15, 1956  
** **12:08 AM**

"Your buddy was thrown from the building with one other person." Slick drops the picture of Lay Low's body on the sidewalk. "You friendly with this scumbag, too?"

"Show some respect for the dead."

"Fine. Are you friendly with this less than upstanding gentleman who sells pussy to other lowlifes?"

"I'm not familiar with the deceased."

Glasses slaps down a photo I recognize from the front page of the Sun Times. "What about these despicable bastards?"

My eyes scan over the thirteen water-bloated bodies and I have to hold back my smile. "Can't say I'm familiar with them either."

"Tell me something, Mr. Cullen, why do you think they cut off their hands and feet?"

My mind goes to the thirteen roses Em found on Benny's gravestone with a passage from the book of Samuel.

 _So at David's command, the young men killed them and cut off their hands and feet, hanging them up near the pool in Hebron._

"I have no idea."

* * *

 **August 1955**

It takes ten pallbearers to bring Benny to his final resting place and one bullet to make him a martyr.

Head down with his hat clutched to his chest, my cousin listens while Father Francis reads from the book of Ecclesiastes.

"There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens," the priest recites with practiced measure.

Standing here in this cemetery, I swear it feels like just yesterday that I was here at my old man's burial with my head bowed hearing the exact same words.

"A time to be born, and a time to die."

Wiping his eyes, Em inhales sharply at the last word. The poor bastard is beside himself. Heart heavy with grief and a conscience racked with guilt.

I feel neither.

The women drop white roses on the casket as it's lowered into the ground, and the men throw handfuls of dirt. Em holds Benny's weeping mother until everyone's gone, and Father Francis pulls her away from the gravesite.

My cousin looks at me and an understanding passes between us. No one can know of our involvement in this. The two of us will take it to the grave. The _three_ of us if you count Benny, but I'm certain our secret is safe with him.

Turning to leave, he gives the order I've been waiting to hear. "Set up the meeting with Big Marcus."

* * *

Three days later, we pull up to a Baptist church in the heart of Bronzeville.

"You sure this is the right address?" Felix asks, eyeing the entrance beneath massive stained glass windows.

Aro throws the car in park. "Yep."

Em slips his hat on his head. "Who holds a sit down in a church?"

"No clue." Tilting my fedora just so, I jerk my chin at the door. "Let's go find out."

Felix and Aro go first, opening the large wooden doors into the lobby. The church bells echo through the sanctuary as we're greeted by two of Marcus's men. And by greeted, I mean patted down.

There in the last pew sits Big Marcus V. Sharply dressed in a light gray suit, the heavy set man stands to face us with his hands clasped in front of him. With a small nod to Em, he speaks. "Good evening."

Pulling his hat off, Em extends his hand. They exchange pleasantries and handshakes for a few moments until Marcus welcomes him to sit. Kneeling down, my cousin does the sign of the cross to the altar before taking his seat.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Cullen?"

"I came here tonight to extend my condolences." Em waves a finger between them."You and me both suffered tremendous losses with the events of last week."

Bowing his head, Marcus closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, but says nothing.

Clearing his throat, Em continues. "I'd been tryin' to make sense of it all and I couldn't, you know? I couldn't figure out what one had to do with the other. So I went lookin' for answers, startin' with the _cops_." He sneers as he spits out the word. "But of course, they've got nothin'. No info. No leads."

"They never do."

"The fellas down at the morgue were a little more helpful." Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the casing from the pistol used on Sally and holds it up between them. "This was recovered from one of the bodies."

Grabbing it with his fingers, Marcus inspects the shell. "Is this from a—"

"Makorov."

Closing his fist around the bullet, Marcus grips it tight. His cool, calm manner gone, giving us a good look at the rage we were hoping for. "What else did they say?"

Em's voice lowers. "You don't wanna know."

"Tell me."

"From what they can tell, Laurent went first. Took one to the chest. Benny was next." His voice catches in his throat when he says Benny's name. "He got one to the head. The guy at the morgue suspected they were both dead before the fall."

"Damn." Marcus scrubs his hand from the top of his bald head down over his face and back up again.

"You and I both know that business is business. Bad things happen here and there, but this …"

"This ain't about business no more."

"Exactly," Em rubs his palms together, "which brings me to why I'm here tonight other than to extend my condolences." Staring straight ahead, Em's voice goes cold. "I'm here to let you know that their deaths will not go unpunished. And that those responsible will be handled _accordingly_."

Marcus's eyes narrow as Emmett meets his gaze.

"I'm here to promise you that there will be retribution. It won't be quick. It'll be drawn out and it'll be vicious."

My cousin lets that hang there for a moment and I hope it's not a misstep. Could be a crapshoot implying that we'll handle it all, but Em seems to think it'll go over better if the idea of teaming up is given as an _offer_ not an _order_. My cousin may be a bit of a hot-head, but if there's one thing he's good at, it's dealing with people.

"I realize that this reassurance will be of little consolation given the magnitude of your loss, but out of _respect_ I thought you should know the matter will be handled."

"I see."

"However, should you have any suggestions or requests on creative ways to … take care of the matter," Em brings his palm to his chest, "I'm open to hearing it beforehand."

Leaning back in his seat, Marcus spreads his arms across the back of the pew and faces the altar. "This isn't what I was expecting."

"What'd you expect?"

"I thought you were here to stake your claim on his corners."

Em shakes his head. "I'm not interested in stakin' any claims."

 _Not yet anyway._

After mulling it over for a few minutes, Marcus lolls his head in my cousin's direction. "I appreciate you comin' here tonight, Mr. Cullen. And I'm grateful to you for the information you shared." He lifts one finger. "I do have a request though."

"Name it."

He points to himself. "My crew'll be the ones who remove the problem."

"That doesn't sound like a request."

"Tell me, Mr. Cullen. You n' your friend—"

"Benny."

Marcus nods. "Benny. How far back you go?"

"Four, maybe five years."

"That's a lot of years." Marcus smiles and crosses his arms over his chest. "Me n' Lay Low go back twenty-nine. As long as I can remember, me n' his scrawny ass have been runnin' these streets, stirrin' up trouble." Lost in his memories for a few moments, the smile fades. "Benny was your _friend_. Lay Low was my _brother_."

"I understand, but … I don't know. Doesn't feel right sittin' back while you handle it."

"You want your pound of flesh."

Nodding slow, Em props his elbows on the back of the pew. "I want more than a _pound_."

Marcus laughs. "Don't we all."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"You always do business in a church?"

"Yep. Don't see no reason to shine up my horns and call it a halo." He thumbs toward a stained glass window with the image of Christ carrying the cross. "He knows what I do. I'm already a sinner. No sense in bein' a liar, too."

"Good point."

"So?"

Em sighs. "I don't know."

"When you walked into this church tonight, Mr. Cullen, you came out of respect, offerin' up a solution. Now out of respect, I'm offerin' you the same." His voice drops lower. "I can give you the resolution you're needin', but more than that, I'm offerin' you deliverance."

"All due respect, I'm not after deliverance."

"You're after blood."

"I'm after vengeance. Swift and sick and bloody."

Marcus's lips turns up into a smirk. "The righteous will rejoice when he sees the vengeance."

"Psalms, right?"

"It is, but do you remember what the righteous does upon seeing the vengeance?"

Em faces him. "He will bathe his feet in the blood of the wicked."

"Mr. Cullen, I'll give you your vengeance."

"And you'll bring me the blood of the wicked?"

Marcus leans forward. "Every. Last. Drop."

"One condition."

"What's that?"

"Make sure it's a headline like this city has never seen before."

"Mr. Cullen," Marcus extends his hand, "I assure you it'll be biblical."

They shake on it and just as Em's about to put his hat on to leave, he turns. "How will I know it's done?"

"Next week, when you go pay your respects to your friend's gravesite, I'll make sure to pay mine as well."

* * *

"They want to _what_?" Paulie asks, looking at Felix like he said the Pope has tits.

Taking a seat beside me on a crate in front of the barbershop, Felix puts his hand up. "Dye the Chicago River green for St. Patrick's Day, hand to God, that's what the plumber said."

"Get outta here. They can't _dye_ the river green." Paulie waves a dismissive hand then touches his temple, speaking loud over the people around us waiting for the parade to start. "Those Irish, they're all crazy, the lot of 'em."

"Easy now," Felix points at me, "his missus is half-Italian, half-Irish."

"His missus is half-Italian, half-ball-breaker."

The fellas around us laugh and Paulie ducks when I go to smack his hat off.

"What? I'm just jok—"

"God damn it!" Some neighborhood kid shouts in front of us, smacking his ball cap on his thigh and looking down at his snow cone splattered on the sidewalk.

"Hey!" Paulie yells and jerks his thumb at the statue of Saint Rocco being carried up the street for the annual feast. "Watch ya' mouth. Show Saint Rocco some respect."

"Sorry, mister."

Checking his pockets and coming up empty, the little guy pouts and turns to walk away.

"Hey kid, hold on," I say, standing and reaching into my pocket.

Maybe I'm feeling nostalgic today. I can't help but think back to when my old man was alive because the Feast of Saint Rocco was one of his favorite days of the year. We'd do mass as a family, then he'd be one of the guys carrying the 400 lbs. statue of Saint Rocco through the streets. Once it was back safely at the church, we'd celebrate with our friends in the neighborhood. All the kids would rush up to my dad and he'd pass out nickels and tell them to go pray.

The youngster eyes me suspiciously. "Yeah?"

"Here." I give him a quarter. "Go grab yourself another one."

His eyes go big. "Gee, mister, that's too much!"

"I'm good for it." I grin. "Keep the change."

He smiles. "Thanks, mister!"

"You're welcome." Bits catches my eye from the ice cream cart across the street and gives me a wink. "Do me a favor while you're at it."

Clutching the quarter to his chest, he raises a skeptical brow. "What?"

I nod my head toward Bella. "See that girl over there?"

He lowers his voice. "The one in the blue dress or the woof she's talking to?"

I look over my shoulder to make sure Paulie didn't hear him call his wife a woof. "Blue dress."

"Yeah, I see her."

"Go tell her I said she's the prettiest girl here."

"You sweet on her or somethin'?"

"Yep."

He nods. "I'll put in a good word for you."

I smirk at the little wiseass as he flips the quarter and stuffs it in his pocket. "Thanks, kid."

"The name's Alec," he slaps his cap back on his head, "but my friends call me Al."

"Take care, Al."

I go back to sitting in front of the barbershop with the fellas, listening to them break each other's balls and watch the people celebrate in the streets. It's just like I remember – the music, the food, the fireworks along the water. The only difference this year is that by the end of the evening, the Chicago River will run red with the blood of our enemies.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm a fic rec fail once again this week. My eyes have been glued to the Weather Channel, watching Hurricane Irma. My heart goes out to those affected by the hurricanes, both Harvey and Irma. So scary.**

 **Carrie and I are enjoying your responses to the questions each week, so we have another one for you – rereads. What's your go-to reread? The fic you never get tired of. Me? I reread all of ItzMegan's fics at least once a month. #obsessionconfession**

 **Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted, or lurked this fic! I'll see you next Thursday!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
** **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **Thursday, March 15, 1956  
** **12:11 AM**

Slick leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Thirteen bodies wash up on the river, and you've got no clue, huh?"

"Why would I?"

"Level with me, Cullen. Who ordered the hit on the Russians?"

"What Russians?"

He slams his hand on the picture. "The thirteen Russians in front of your fuckin' face."

"No idea."

"Do you know _how_ they died?"

"Nope."

"Coroner said they were bound. Hands severed with a rip saw. Feet were removed with the blade of a boat." He hits the picture again. "While they were still all fuckin' alive."

"Sounds awful."

Looking at Glasses, Slick points at me and laughs. "You hear this asshole? _Sounds awful_."

Glasses ignores him and spreads a couple more pictures in front of me. This time it's the crime scene photos from the murder of a district attorney and a witness from Philly's trial. "What do you know about these?"

"Nothing."

 _And that's the God's honest truth._

"Both of the victims were involved in Philly Neri's trial." He points to one of the guys lying dead, facedown in a bathroom stall. "That's the district attorney assigned to prosecute him, and this guy," he taps the other, "was a key witness. He was murdered days before he was scheduled to testify."

"That's unfortunate."

The fall of 1955 is where things got a bit tricky. I admit I was too busy patting myself on the back for pulling off the job on the Russians without getting our hands too dirty. It's easy to see it now, but back then I was too arrogant to notice what was happening around me.

I never saw it coming.

* * *

 **September 1955**

"Philly, either you've got a horseshoe up your ass or you're the luckiest bastard I know," Joey Nickels jokes, holding his bottle high in the air to toast that smug bastard on his mistrial. "Congrats, my friend. Salute."

I shoot my drink without raising my glass because _fuck_ that guy.

There's music playing and we're all throwing back a few drinks. Philly's holding court with the old timers talking about getting back in the game. I've got news for him though. The only game he'll be getting back into is taking bets out at the horse track in Arlington with the washed-up bookies and degenerate gamblers.

Philly nudges Emmett. "Where's your pops, kid?"

"Should be here any minute." He looks at his watch then back to Philly. "He wouldn't miss this."

"There he is!" Paulie gets up to greet my uncle who's holding himself up against the door.

Em stands. "Dad?"

White as a sheet, Uncle C staggers in, clutching his side. He makes it about four steps before dropping to the floor. Blood seeps through his coat, then out of his mouth as he coughs.

The place goes up for grabs.

My cousin's by his side in an instant, covering the wound with his hand and screaming his name over and over again. Paulie's barking orders at the boys from the 42nd Street gang. Locked and loaded, they charge out the door with their guns drawn ready to shoot anything moving.

I kneel beside my cousin, cradling my uncle's head in my hands. "We need to get him to the hospital."

"Aro's car is out back." Felix pulls out his piece in case things get hairy. "Let's go."

Driving like a madman, Aro flies down the city streets, running red lights and cutting off cars while my cousin softly speaks to his father in the back seat. I look over my shoulder at them from the front. My uncle's eyes are open and his skin looks ashen under the flashes of streetlights. If not for the labored breaths and the gurgled blood springing from his throat, you'd think he was dead.

Carrying his father's near-lifeless body through the doors of the hospital, Em hollers for help. Two nurses rush to his side as an orderly helps Uncle C onto a gurney. A doc barks instructions from the doorway while the nurses remove my uncle from the waiting room.

"Call my mother," Em orders us as he follows them back, "and get her here. Now!"

Once he's through the doors, I look at Aro. "You head over there. I'm gonna call my ma first so she can meet you at Es's and help keep her calm on the way back."

Felix nods towards the payphones. "You want me to call Es?"

"No." I scrub my hands over my eyes. "News like this should be from family."

The phone calls go as expected. My mother curses. Aunt Es weeps.

I head back to speak to Em and find him pacing the halls.

"What's the word?"

He won't look at me. "Surgery."

"They workin' on him?"

"Yeah." He sniffs. "Lost a lot of blood."

"Your old man's strong, Em."

"I know."

"We gotta have faith in him."

His head drops and his hands go to his hips. "A _lot_ of fuckin' blood, Eddie."

"I know." I put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on. Chapel's this way."

Kneeling with our heads bowed, we pray. Tears stream down my cousin's face and his knuckles are nearly white from clasping his hands so hard. His prayers aren't silent. He begs and pleads with God to spare my uncle. Makes all sorts of promises that he knows he'll never be able to keep.

And me?

I pray to St. Anthony, because we're gonna need a fucking miracle.

Aunt Es arrives just as a doctor comes out to give us an update. It takes Aro, Felix, and one of the orderlies to pry Em's hands from the doc's throat when he tells us they still don't have the bleeding under control and that we may want to consider calling a priest. I watch it all from the floor where I'm holding my sobbing aunt who nearly collapsed upon hearing the news.

Security is called and Emmett is detained in a small room near the entrance. Hysterical now, my aunt's cries are out of control, so much so that a nurse slips her a little something to calm her down.

It takes me about fifteen minutes and all the money in my pocket to convince the doc and security to let Em stay. Nearly two hours later, my uncle is stabilized. The bullet missed his lung, but hit an artery. Given the amount of shock to his body, the doc tells us they're going to keep him sedated to help him heal.

Although it's late, several of the guys pop in to check on the boss. Paulie and all his crew, Lou and a few of the old timers, Sammy Teets and Joey Nickels – all of them hang around, waiting for either news or instruction.

Handing me a coffee, Aro sits down beside me. "Times like these are always interesting, aren't they?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's good to take notice," he waves a finger around, "of who's here."

My eyes scan the room and it dawns on me that someone's missing.

"And who's not."

"You don't think—"

"Visiting hours are over," my mother interrupts, speaking to Aro. "Let's get Esme and Emmett home." She places her hand on his cheek then moves to hold my chin, tilting my head up to look at her. "You stay with Carlisle tonight."

I nod.

"Did you call Bella?"

"No, but I'm sure Rose already told her."

"Call her. She's probably worried sick."

"I will, Ma."

Once everyone leaves, I place a borrowed dime in the slot and call my wife, who picks up on the first ring.

"Edward?"

"Yeah, it's me."

She sighs. "You all right?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "No."

"Did he …" she trails off, unable to say it.

"No, no, he's, uh, in bad shape, but still alive."

"Thank God."

"Listen Bits, I'm gonna stay here tonight."

"Okay."

"I'll call you in the mornin' to let you know what's goin' on."

"All right."

Squeezing my eyes shut, I lean against the payphone. "Love you."

"I love you too."

Just as I'm about to hang up the phone, I hear her say my name.

"Yeah?"

"Be strong for them."

"I will, Bits."

* * *

Sitting at his bedside, I watch my uncle's chest rise and fall. In my mind, I replay the events of the evening, but nothing's adding up.

Closing my eyes, I try to remember everyone in the room. Everyone was there apart from Carlisle and his new driver, Eleazar, who I found out didn't fare as well as my uncle.

Bleary-eyed, I head to the john to take a piss and splash some cold water on my face. I stare at myself in the mirror as I pat my face dry, listening to the buzz of the fluorescent light. Flipping the switch and reaching for the door, my hand freezes at the unmistakable sound of a hammer being cocked.

I grab my piece and tear open the door to find some wise guy hovering over my uncle's face with a pillow and a revolver. My eyes widen then narrow as I step forward. Before I can even take my aim, the bastard flinches, but it's not because I startled him. I hear a slice, a gurgle and the sound of his fedora hitting the ground. The guy's entire body stiffens and his feet leave the floor as Aro holds him up, driving a knife into the base of his skull. One twist of the wrist and the stranger's body goes limp.

Terror and relief flood through me as I lean against the doorway for support. "Holy shit."

Cool and calm, Aro nods towards Uncle C's bed. "Grab me that blanket, would ya?"

I toss it at him. "How'd you …" My mouth can't get the words out. "You came back?"

"Had a feelin' they'd come back to finish the job."

"Thank God you did." I wave a hand in Uncle C's direction. "Otherwise this one would've been a fuckin' goner."

"Eh. Don't mention it."

"You recognize this guy?"

"One of the shitbags from McKinley Park."

I step closer and take a look. He's right. It was one of those fucks Philly was bullshitting with when Jimmy Two Tons got mouthy with Em. "No way."

After bunching the blanket under the guy's head to soak up the blood, Aro stands. "Yep."

"How're we gonna get rid of this?"

He thumbs towards the nurse's desk. "I need you to go sweet talk the night nurse. Keep her distracted while I take our little friend here for a ride."

"A ride?"

Pointing to the gurney outside our room, he smirks.

"Where you takin' him?"

"A tropical getaway," he cleans off his knife, "down the garbage chute around the corner at the end of the hall. Hopefully it'll be a one-way trip to the incinerator from there."

I keep a lookout while he loads the scumbag onto the gurney and covers him with a sheet, but not before staring down and admiring his handiwork for a few moments. _Now this is the Chopper I remember._

Smirking, he nods towards the nurse's station. "Don't forget to turn on the charm."

"Yeah, yeah."

He laughs. "Stay sharp, kid."

I head down to speak with the night nurse who practically trips over herself to grab me a blanket and pillow from the back. She returns about three minutes later with the linens and some freshly applied lipstick and rouge.

"Is there anything you need," she fiddles with her lapel, "Mr. Cullen?"

 _Not a chance, lady_. I peek down the hall and see Aro rounding the corner out of sight. "Nothing else, thanks."

About fifteen minutes later, Aro strolls back in, whistling like he didn't just shove a knife through a man's brain and toss him down a garbage chute.

"All taken care of?"

"Yep."

"Chopper, you saved—"

"I said don't mention it." He folds his hands in front of him and looks down at my uncle. "Anything for this guy."

"You guys go way back?"

"As long as I can remember, this one and your father were always helping me find trouble."

"And if you couldn't find it, you'd make it?"

He smiles, recognizing one of my old man's favorite lines. "Exactly."

"These two have always been good to me. Your father, especially." Crossing his arms over his chest, he looks at the ceiling. "When I was younger, I had every intention of joining the family. But then I met my wife and she was …" He waves a hand around, looking for the right word. "A ball-breaker."

I laugh, thinking he was going to say something romantic.

"Great woman, don't get me wrong, but _this_ wasn't a life she wanted for herself. And I … well … I wanted _her_ desperately. That was the only way she'd have me though, so I went to your father and uncle, told 'em I couldn't be involved with our thing. I was expecting a bullet between the eyes, but your dad had just met your mother and he was over the moon in love, so he gave me a pass."

Pausing a moment, he swallows hard and adjusts the hat on his head.

"So I opened up a butcher shop and for a few years life was real swell. And just when I thought it couldn't be any better, my wife told me she was finally with child." He looks at his feet. "Happiest I'd ever been."

Shuffling from foot to foot, he shoves a hand in his pocket.

"Then one mornin' while I was at the bank, some neighborhood punks held up my shop. One of the little fucks had a shaky trigger finger. Got nervous when one of the others bumped into him." He gums his lips until he collects himself. "Took 'em both from me that day."

I look away, unable to imagine pain like that when it came to Bitsy or God forbid, an unborn child.

"The day after their funeral, some cops show up at my door to let me know they had a couple of the pricks in custody. I thanked them kindly then went straight to your old man. And even though I had _no right_ , I begged him to let me deal with them. _Begged_." His voice cracks. "No questions asked, Ed made it happen. Greased a few palms; made sure those shits got off on a technicality. And when they did he put 'em in the trunk of a car and brought them to me in the basement of my shop." Lost in his thoughts for a moment, he blows out a breath. "There was nothin' left when I was done."

"I'm sorry, I, uh … I had no idea."

"That's 'cause your father never told a soul. Never asked for anything in return, either."

I rub my eyes and lean back in the chair.

"He's not going to stop, you know?"

"Who?"

He tilts his head. "You know who."

He's right. I do know who. Looking at my uncle lying there, I wonder how he couldn't see it. "How long have you suspected Philly?"

"In my heart, I knew we killed the man who pulled the trigger that night at the stockyard. But it wasn't until the repast after the funeral that I figured out who gave the order. Your uncle doesn't want to see it. Can't seem to differentiate Philly from the kid we played handball with in the schoolyard and the scumbag he's become."

Placing my elbows on my knees, I stare at the tile floor. "He'll be dealt with."

"It should be _you_ who does it though."

My head snaps up at his words.

"This one's gonna make it." He motions to my uncle. "But _you?_ You deserve your vengeance."

"Agreed."

He slowly removes his hat and holds it over his heart. "When the time comes, should things go south, I, um," he stammers before straightening up. "I was hoping that maybe you could send your mother away for a while. I can't have … I mean, I don't want her mixed up in this."

"Definitely."

His thank you is quiet, but the relief in his posture speaks volumes.

"Grab some shut eye, kid. I'll keep my eyes peeled."

* * *

Hours later, I wake up to ridiculous amounts of sunlight, a crick in my neck, and Aro standing guard over my uncle. I'm about to go back to sleep when hear someone humming in the hallway and I recognize the voice immediately.

Aro stiffens and quickly steps back into his hiding place while I slip into the bathroom and leave the door cracked so I can keep an eye on this slippery prick. Philly saunters in like he's got the world on a string. After a glance over his shoulder, he puts his finger beneath my uncle's nostrils to see if he's still breathing.

 _Gotcha ya fuck._ "Disappointed?" I ask, stepping out of the bathroom and pulling out my piece.

His eyes go wide and he stumbles back a bit. "The fuck?"

I put my thumb on the hammer. "I knew it was you."

"Get outta here with tha—"

He stops short at the sound of Aro's switchblade opening from behind the door.

I smile. "You're fuckin' dea—"

"Phil, you forgot the flowers," Philly's wife nags from around the corner before entering the room carrying a huge bouquet of blooms.

I quickly slide my gun into my pants and Aro does the same with his knife.

Handing off the enormous bouquet, she gives me a sad smile and pulls me in for a hug. "I'm so sorry, sweetie."

I pat her back and stare daggers at her husband. "Thanks, Carm."

"Terrible." She squeezes my shoulders, holding me at arm's length. "This is just terrible."

We play nice for the next twenty minutes, me fielding questions on Uncle C's condition, Carm gasping with each detail, and Philly pretending like he gives a fuck. A nurse comes in and Philly decides they should take off. Aro and I kiss his wife's cheek and cordially thank the two of them for coming.

Philly's smiling like the cat that ate the canary until he hears the promise I make him as he practically pushes his wife out the door.

"I'll be seein' you, Philly."

That prick grins and makes me a promise of his own. "Not unless I see you first, kid."

* * *

 **A/N: Oh Mylanta – we've reached chapter 13 already? *shakes head* Where has the time gone?**

 **It's been a bit of a week, but I actually managed to find a little time to let it WIP and I've gotta say, I'm super excited to see where this one goes.**

 **Until You by olivejuice26 -** **At the start of her senior year in a new school, Bella is assigned a project with a partner who has a harrowing tale to tell. She soon learns that the kind boy she's working with hides a broken spirit behind a smile that convinces everyone but her. With him, she will discover how to love through adversity; with her, he will uncover a passion to live and love without bounds. AH, OOC**

 **Tell us pals, what's the one WIP that hasn't updated in forever that you'd do almost anything to see back in your inbox?**

 **See you guys Thursday! Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, or lurked this fic!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
** **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **Thursday, March 15, 1956  
** **12:14 AM**

Dropping a picture of Elezear on the table, Glasses stands and circles the table. "Let's talk about the second attempt on your uncle's life."

I cross my arms over my chest. "You guys got any leads?"

"No." He scratches his brow. "But we have some theories."

I smirk. "Last time I checked, theories don't lead to convictions."

"Yeah, well last time I checked, most employees at Chicago and Northwest Railroad don't have multiple attempts made on their lives either." He rests his palms on the table, leaning over me. "Now, what do you know about the night your uncle got shot?"

 _I know it nearly cost me the love of my life_. "Other than him being shot in front of the Black Orchid, I don't know anything."

* * *

 **September 1955**

"How do you want to handle this?" Aro asks, stepping to my side as we watch Philly and his wife wait for the elevator.

My jaw clenches when that smug prick smirks and wraps his arms around Carmen from behind. To anyone else, this seems like a loving gesture, but there's nothing loving about it. That fucking coward is using her as a goddamn bullet sponge.

 _What kind of man does that to his wife?_ Even the thought of Bitsy mixed up in this makes my chest ache.

"Tail him." I slip my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels, grateful that my voice comes out even and I don't sound as rattled as I feel. "Don't you dare let that slippery fucker out of your sight."

"You got it." Aro nods and places his hat on his head before taking off in the direction of the stairs.

Philly presses a kiss to his wife's cheek as the elevator arrives then has the balls to jerk his chin at me. It's like he's goading me to make a move, which he knows I won't here in broad daylight with so many witnesses.

The second he's gone, I head over to the payphone kitty-corner from my uncle's room. Some teeny-bopper is on it, twirling the cord and bitching about having to visit her grandma in the hospital.

"I need the phone, kid."

"Hold on, mister." Scowling, she turns her back on me and slides a hand in her poodle skirt pocket while she continues her yakking.

"I said," I press on the switch to end the call, "I _need_ the phone."

"HEY!"

"It's an emergency." I yank the receiver from her hand and give her a look. "Now scram."

Her eyes go big as I glare at her and she steps back, nodding her head. I take a second to gather myself before I dial the operator, needing to sound calm and casual, not scared out of my mind that my wife's gonna get brought into this mess. Normally, wives and children are off-limits. Even gangsters have an honor code.

But Philly isn't honorable and I just can't take that chance with Bits.

I adjust my hat and blow out a breath while they connect the call. The phone barely is through its first ring when she picks up and accepts the charges. "Hello."

"Hey Bits."

"How is he?"

"Same."

"Is that good or bad?"

"It's a little of both." I shove a hand in my pocket and stare up at the ceiling tiles. "So listen, I think I'm gonna be stayin' up here awhile to help out the family and stuff."

"All right, do you want me to bring up some clothes and food?"

"Uh, no. Actually, I was hoping you'd go stay at your folks' house until things calm down a bit."

There's a long pause on her end.

"Bella?"

"What do you mean until things calm down? What's going on?"

"Nothing, I just don't want you home alone all the time while I'm here."

"I'm a big girl, Edward. I'm sure I'll be fine."

My hand tightens into a fist in my pocket. "This isn't up for discussion, Bits."

More silence from her end.

"You there?"

"I'm here," she snaps. "I'm just waiting on you to tell me what's going on."

"You already know what's goin' on," I shoot back a little louder and sharper than intended, so I lower my voice. "You know why I'm here and it's not for nothin' good. Forgive me if I'd like a little peace of mind that my wife isn't alone while I'm away."

I cover my ear as an announcement blares from the P.A. speaker nearby. Not that I'm missing much since she's gone quiet again.

"Bitsy?"

"Fine."

"Fine?"

" _Fine_ ," she repeats, but she doesn't sound fine. "I'll go to my parents."

"Good. I'll call you there this afternoon." I glance towards the elevator and see Emmett and Aunt Es heading in my direction. "Shit."

"What?"

"Sorry, I gotta go."

"Edward—"

"Talk soon, Bits. Love you."

I hang up and meet them just before they hit my uncle's door.

Em clears his throat. "How is he?"

"Same." I glance at my aunt who looks a little worse for wear with her eyes swollen from crying. "No change."

Her lip trembles as she nods and steps into his room. Em goes to follow, but I place a hand on his shoulder.

"We've got a problem."

His eyes move from my hand to meet my gaze and his expression hardens. "A bigger problem than my old man unconscious in the hospital?"

I lean forward. "I've got the person _responsible_ for your old man's condition."

He steps closer. "Who?"

"Let's go somewhere without ears."

* * *

"Are you fu—" The word stops short as Em glances at the crucifix on the chapel's altar. "Are you kiddin' me?"

I almost laugh. He can cut a man's tongue out, no problem. Curse in front of a wooden Christ on a cross, out of the fucking question.

"I wish I were."

Standing, he paces the length of the pew, punching his hand into the crown of his hat. He looks fucking murderous, gritting his teeth and cracking his neck. Every moment of silence is another second closer to him exploding.

"So let me get this straight. You're tellin' me that Philly's behind it all?"

I nod.

"All the hits we thought were the Russians?"

"Probably."

"Sally?"

"More than likely"

"Each time they were after my father?"

"It all fits." I cross my arms over my chest. "Apart from the time that he murdered mine."

Dropping his head, he looks at his feet and mutters something that I don't catch.

"What was that?"

"I said I want them _dead,_ " he practically snarls as he takes a slow step towards me. "Every last one of them. Philly." Another step. "Mikey." He jabs a finger in my chest. "Every single piece of garbage from McKinley Park."

"They're all fuckin' dead," I promise, meaning every word.

Two knocks sound from the chapel door and we turn to see Paulie peek his head in.

"Es sent us down to get youse two. The doc's gonna be comin' in a few." Pushing the door open, Paulie steps inside with Felix and Aro right behind him.

My eyes go wide at the sight of Aro. "You're supposed to be tailin' him!"

Brow furrowed, Felix widens his arms. "Who're we supposed to be tailin'?"

"He had a car waitin' for him at the entrance." Aro shuts the door behind them and slips both hands in his pockets. "They pulled away as soon as I got outside."

"Godda—" Em stops mid curse, looking at that crucifix again and kicking a pew.

Paulie steps forward. "What's goin'—"

"I called Lou," Aro speaks over Paulie. "He's on his way over to Philly's to keep tabs on him."

"Philly?" Paulie's eyes narrow and he jerks his chin at Emmett. "What's goin' on, boss?"

Pressing his palms into his eyes, Em goes back to pacing. Faster and faster. I can't tell if he's trying to calm himself down or wind himself up.

"Give us a minute, will ya' fellas?" Nodding, they all file out of the room. "Stay close, I'll catch you up a minute." I turn back to my cousin. "Your old man needs you right now."

He shakes his head. "I gotta handle this."

"No." I clasp my hands in front of me. "What you _gotta_ do is go upstairs and be there for your mother and father. That's _all_ you gotta do right now."

"What about—"

"I'll take care of it." I place a hand on my chest. "I'll make sure we find him."

"Grab his rat-faced kid, too."

"I'll hand deliver them both to you."

Mulling over my words, he bites the inside of his cheek and stares at the stained glass window scene of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. "Ed, I don't know …"

"Lemme do this, Em. Lemme worry about this so you can focus on your old man."

After several seconds of silence, he exhales through his nose and nods his head in agreement. "Fine."

He points a finger at me. "But I want them alive, you understand me?"

"I understand."

And with that, he storms out, letting the fellas know to come back in for instruction.

As expected, Paulie and Felix go wild at the news like my cousin did. But unlike Em, Paulie's got no problem cursing in a chapel.

"Let my crew handle those McKinley Park fucks." He winds a finger. "I'll set every one of those fuckers on fire."

Felix tilts his head back and forth at the suggestion before offering one of his own. "What about that rock quarry up on First Avenue and Ogden? I've always wanted to toss someone into that."

"Maybe set 'em on fire first, then toss 'em," Paulie adds with a smile.

 _These two are sick._

"I don't give a shit about McKinley Park, but I want Philly and Mikey delivered alive." I straighten my stance. "Paulie, you reassume Mikey's territory. We'll split the difference once things settle, but for now I want you to have eyes and ears over there." I wave a hand. "Hit up the whores, see what they know. Broads always love to flap their gums."

"Got it."

I turn to Felix. "I want you to focus on finding the Neris. Call that fat fuck at the Flags Club, what's his name?" I snap my fingers trying to jog my memory.

"Joey Beefs or Fat Jackie?"

"Joey Beefs. You tell him to put the Canaryville and Bridgeport boys on alert. They see either one of the Neris, they call us."

"Got it."

"Talk to the 42nd Street boys and those fellas in Joliet and Cicero, tell them to keep their eyes peeled. Get someone on Philly's pizza joint too."

"All right." He pulls out his cigarettes. "You want me to post someone at Midway and the train station in case they try to get out of the city?"

"Yeah, and let's put someone at the bus terminal on Randolph too."

"Good call." Felix strikes his match and lights up, inhaling deep before blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth. "You got anything else we can handle?"

I rub my jaw. "Not yet. Just make sure that your crews know that it's business as usual though. Tribute's kicked up on Wednesdays, except I think The Orchid is too hot. Capos can bring it to Paulie's barbershop."

"What do we do when we find them?" Aro pipes up from where he's serving as lookout by the doors.

"Incapacitate them any way you want, then bring them to the stockyard." I rock back on my heels. "Just make sure they're still breathing."

* * *

Two nights later, I'm freshly showered and shaved and desperate to see my wife. Although the hour is late, Charlie begrudgingly lets me in.

"It's ten after ten," my father-in-law grunts as he shuts the door behind me.

"Well hello to you too."

"I don't think she even wants to see you."

Slipping my hat off my head, I give him a look. "And why's that?"

"My baby girl is wising up." He smiles. "I've got a feeling she's starting to see you for the man you are." Dropping his voice, he leans in. "And we both know that you need her more than she needs you."

I bite the inside of my cheek, feeling the ache in my chest burn and the knots in my stomach tighten at the truth of his words. He's not wrong. If she really knew what I'm capable of or the things I've done, she'd walk away and never look back.

"How's Bree?" I ask a little louder than necessary.

"Sssshhh!" He puts a finger over his mouth looking both furious and terrified.

"That's what I thought." I take a step closer and smirk. "It's been nice bullshittin' with you, Chuck. Now which way is it to your _baby girl's_ room?"

He looks away. "Top of the stairs, second door on the right."

I pat him on the back. "Thanks, Pops."

As I climb the stairs to Bitsy's bedroom, I grin at him like the prick that I am. Once I reach the second door on the right, I knock softly and peek inside to find her at her vanity staring back at me from the reflection in the mirror. Her brow rises at the sight of me, but other than that she doesn't acknowledge my presence.

"Bits?"

No response as she continues to stare into her mirror.

I shut the door behind me. "Are you still sore at me?"

Her brow arches higher, but she says nothing.

I step forward until I'm standing right behind her. "I've missed you."

She scoffs.

I rub her shoulder with my hand. "Couldn't go another minute without seein' you." Bending down, I drop a soft kiss on her neck. "Did you miss me?"

"Of course."

My lips move to her jaw and I see her close her eyes in the reflection. "Happy to see me?"

"Yes." The word comes out in a breathy whisper.

"You still love me, Bits?"

She opens her eyes and brings her hand to my cheek. "Always."

Wrapping my arms around her shoulders, I squeeze her tight and bury my face in her hair. "I hate bein' away from you."

She runs her fingers along my temple, softly scratching my scalp. "So don't."

I meet her eyes in the mirror. "I wish I didn't have to."

"Why do you _have_ to?" The question is innocent enough, but something about the way she says it makes me think it's not innocent at all.

I give her a smooch and deflect. "How've things been going around here?"

Pausing a beat, she looks away and reaches for her brush. "You mean apart from my father offering to look into an annulment and my mother subtly suggesting ways for me to please my husband?" She rolls her eyes. "Other than that it's been great."

 _Tread lightly, Cullen_. "They think we're havin' problems?"

She turns to look at me. "What else would they think, Edward? I showed up with a suitcase like I'd been tossed out of my home."

"But you know it's not like that."

"But that's how it looks." Her eyes move back to the mirror and she roughly drags the brush through her ends. "It's a little fishy. Rose is still staying at her house. Why can't I?"

"That's Emmett's choice. I don't want you alone." She opens her mouth to speak, but I don't let her. "Period. End of discussion."

My hypocrisy doesn't escape my notice. Earlier today, watching Philly use his wife's ignorance as leverage while I stand here and knowingly leave my wife in the dark. I tell myself it's for her own good. For _her_ safety. But deep down, I know I'm a fuckin' liar and a coward who's too scared to take the chance that she might wise up and hit the bricks when she figures out that I'm no good for her.

It's just not a chance I'm willing to take.

"I don't want to fight, Bits." I press a soft kiss to her cheek. "And I'm not here to argue." Skimming my nose along her jaw, I bring my lips to her ear. "Don't be sore at me, all right?"

Her eyelids lower when I softly swipe her earlobe with my tongue. "All right."

One more smooch and I stand, letting her finish brushing her hair like she does every night before bed. I toss my hat on the desk and take a look around. This is the first time I've been in her room, but it's exactly what I expected. Soft pinks and pastels color the walls while first place ribbons and pom-poms and hodge-podge stacked paperbacks line her bookshelves. Picking up a picture frame, I run a finger over a younger version of a smiling Bits dressed in white gown surrounded a few of her debutante friends. She's gorgeous as always, sitting there looking all demure and innocent. As a matter of fact, she looks like the very picture of purity as a sinful thought crosses my mind.

"Hey Bits." I place the picture back on the shelf and take three slow steps until I'm once again behind her. "Tell me somethin'." My hands grip the top of her shoulders for a moment before moving down her arms. "You ever had a guy in this room with you?"

She shakes her head and I let one of my hands go lower, slipping it inside her robe. "No."

My thumb barely grazes her nipple and she sucks in a breath. "So you never fooled around in here with anyone before?"

"No one." Wetting her lips, her eyes find mine in the mirror. "Just you."

 _Goddamn right, just me_.

The words are barely out of her mouth before I pick her up off the vanity stool. She wraps those legs around me as I carry her to her bed, pulling that robe off of her body while she winds her tongue around mine.

The bed squeaks when her back hits that mattress. I stand over her, loosening my tie and unbuttoning my shirt, watching her pull her nightgown up and running a fingertip over her lace-trimmed underwear.

I swallow at the sight. "Take 'em off."

She complies with a smile, making a show of tugging and sliding the fabric down her legs.

"Fuckin' gorgeous," I whisper as I grab my piece and set it on the nightstand with a thud.

Just as I go to drop my drawers, I hear a few footsteps on the staircase and I'm reminded that someone needs to be taught a lesson about making my girl question my love for her. So I leave on my pants and climb between my wife's legs, putting my mouth on the sweet little spot that makes her thighs clench and my name fall from her lips in a whimper. I suck and lick and tease her pussy until her daddy hears nothing but dirty girl moans coming from my good girl's mouth.

"Please," she pants, fisting her fingers in my hair while her thighs tremble against my ears. "Edward, please."

She toes the waistband of my slacks and squirms higher on the mattress. My tongue circles her once more then I sit up on my knees, making quick work of my pants. Licking my lips and stroking myself, I take a second to admire my wife splayed out before me, all pink-cheeked and panting.

"Christ, Bits," I groan, parting those thighs and bringing those ankles to rest on my shoulders. The tip of my cock slip-slides against where she's wet and waiting for me to take her. But before I do, I grab the corners of the mattress on either side of her head, kiss her lips and tell her that I love her.

Then I slam inside and make sure the bed creaks loud enough so her dad can hear just how much I love his baby girl.

* * *

Uncle C wakes up the next day. He's groggy and disoriented, but very much alive. Em decides to keep him in the dark for the time being. Last thing we need is for him to have a heart attack when he hears about Philly.

The next couple of weeks are shitty all-around. Between security details at the hospital, no leads on Philly and Mikey's whereabouts, and Bitsy's frosty attitude towards me as of late, I'm taking heat from all sides. Em's up my ass for answers, I'm breathing down the necks of the capos and soldiers, and Bits … well there's a good chance she hates me.

Maybe it's because I've only seen her a few times since our little tryst in her childhood bedroom. Maybe it's because I dodge her questions every time we're on the phone when she asks what's going on. Maybe it's because I blew a gasket when I called over to her parents last week only to find out she went back home to stay. Or maybe it's because I said things I didn't mean out of anger.

Maybe it's all of it.

Memories of our fight last night flash through my mind. I can still see the set of her jaw and the fuckin' fire in her eyes when I told her to make me dinner. And her words. _Fuck_. Her words.

"Eat shit!" my wife practically growls through clenched teeth as she pours a can of pork and beans onto a plate in front of me.

After the day I've had, I spoon them into my mouth and smirk up at my seething wife. "Best meal you ever made, Bits."

She looks stunned, like I slapped her in the face. My girl's eyes water and she balls her hands into fists before stomping off into the bedroom and slamming the door.

I toss my spoon on the plate and follow her into the bedroom. Opening the door, I find her face down on our bed. "I'm sorry."

She doesn't look up or acknowledge me in any way. So I head back to the hospital and send her flowers in the morning.

"Good news, gentlemen!" Em bounds into the room with a spring in his step and a smile on his face, jarring me from my memories of last night. "They're cuttin' my old man loose today."

Paulie, Felix, and I stand, all happier than hell that he's being discharged. No more bullshit hospital food and sleeping upright in a chair.

"They'll spring him in a few hours."

"That's great!" I clap him on the shoulder. "He's probably thrilled."

"He is. He is." Em jerks his chin at me. "How's the search goin'?"

I shake my head, fucking disgusted. "Eh. I'm meeting up with a possible lead this afternoon, but I don't know if it'll pan out. I've got Jenks on it now too, lookin' at properties that they own. I don't know, maybe they're layin' low somewhere else."

He nods, but I don't miss the disappointment on his face.

* * *

Paulie, Felix and I head over to the horse track to celebrate my uncle getting sprung from the hospital and to meet up with the guy who claims he's got a lead on the Neris. I call Bits a few times, hoping she's forgiven me for my mouth. She finally picks up the fourth time I call.

"Bits?"

Silence.

"You get my flowers?"

More silence from her end.

I cover my ear when the race starts. "Bits? You there?"

"I'm here."

"My uncle went home today."

"That's wonderful," she says sincerely, sounding relieved. "Will you be home tonight?"

"Of course," I answer offhand, perusing through the racetrack program for today's races.

Paulie waves me over to place my bet, yellin' at me to hurry, so I only catch the tail end of Bella's response. Something about dinner tonight.

"Sounds good."

"Six-thirty?"

Paulie widens his arms. "Come on!"

"Yep, listen, I gotta go."

"But—"

"Talk soon, Bits."

The day goes fast. I win a little cheddar off the races, have a few drinks and some laughs with the capos and a couple other fellas. The guy who supposedly has info on Philly and Mikey turns out to be a dud like I suspected. Some two-bit hustler trying to bullshit a couple of bullshitters. Paulie doesn't take too kindly to him wasting our time, so he brings him around back, knocks a few of his teeth out and rubs his face in a pile of horseshit.

For the first time in what seems like ages, I'm enjoying myself. The drinks are flowing and the next thing I know, I'm up a few hundred in a card game. By the time I walk away to count my money, I see it's past nine.

"Shit!" I stuff the bills in my pockets and tap Paulie on the shoulder. "I gotta get home."

He smirks. "Late for curfew?"

"Shut up. Come on, take me home."

* * *

Every light in the house is on when we pull up and I mumble a curse under my breath.

"She gonna lay into you?"

"Probably." I open the car door and slip out. "Thanks for the ride, man."

"Hey Eddie?"

I dip down to look at him.

"Ask her if you can bring your balls to work tomorrow."

I smack the top of his car and shut the door. "Get outta here!"

As he pulls away, I give a wave up the block to Liam, one of the fellas from the 42nd Street gang who's been keeping an eye on Bits in my absence. Flashing his headlights to let me know he saw me, he starts up his car and drives away slowly. Now that I'm home, he's off duty.

Taking a deep breath, I head up my walk to face the music. When I open the door, I see her sitting in her seat at the dining room table with a glass of wine in her hand and a look on her face that makes me think she has murder on her mind.

Dinner's still on the table. A half-eaten roast, several sides and a couple empty bottles of wine are scattered around the middle of the table between my place setting and my wife's, as well as the dishes from the two guests who apparently dined with her tonight.

"Hey Bits."

Narrowing her eyes, she takes a slow sip from her glass.

"I'm, uh, sorry." I rub the back of my neck. "I got caught up …"

She arches her brow. "At work?"

"Yeah." _Not technically a lie_. "Time just got away from me."

"Bullshit," she spits, roughly setting her glass on the table.

"Watch your mouth!"

She slams her hands down on the wood. "I won't!" Her chair scrapes along the floor as she stands. "Where were you?"

"Workin' like I said!"

"Don't lie!" She pounds on the table again and steps towards me. "Aro called down to the club. He called your office. He even called over to your uncle's place." She gets in my face and I see her eyes water. "Where _were_ you?"

"Bits …"

Placing her palms on my chest, she shoves me hard. "WHERE?"

"HEY!" I grab her wrists. "Watch your hands!"

"Answer me!"

"I told you," I bring her hands to her sides, "I was workin', out makin' a livin'."

"Liar—"

I reach for her necklace. "Out there earnin' money for your fancy pearls and furs and all the shit you want so you can look down your nose at the rest of the broads at the Junior League."

"You're a real bastard!" She goes to shove me again, but I catch her wrists.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a real bastard, aren't I?" I push her off me and head down the hallway. "Poor you! Ya' got it so rough, don't ya?"

"You don't even care!" She follows me back to my office. "You don't even care that you've humiliated me in front of your mother and Aro."

I toss my hat on my desk and loosen my tie. "I'll call my mother and apologize in the morning."

Stopping dead in her tracks, she stares me down. "You'll call your _mother_?" Her words come out slow. "To … apologize."

"Yeah. It'll be fine." I flick the empty bottle on my drink cart. "We got any more scotch?"

Covering her eyes, her shoulders slump and she lets out a loud sob. Bits ain't a cryer. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen her cry. I feel fucking sick.

"Come on, Bella, don't—"

"Don't what?" She drops her hands so I can see what I've done. "Don't cry over the fact that my husband has all but ignored me for the past three weeks?"

"Bel—"

"Don't cry because he doesn't give a shit—"

"Language—"

"—that he's _humiliated_ me?"

"Enough."

"Don't cry because he'd rather be anywhere than with his wife?"

"I SAID ENOUGH!" I take two steps and I've got my finger in her face. "You think I like bein' away, huh? That I like sittin' in a hospital room, watchin' my uncle getting' poked and prodded? Watchin' some homely nurse givin' him a sponge-bath, soapin' his privates?" Leaning down, I drop my voice. "You've got _no_ idea what I'm dealin' with right now, Bits. None. So do me a favor. Cut the theatrics and get me a scotch without the waterworks."

She doesn't move, instead she squares her shoulders. "Who is she?"

"Get outta here with that."

"Who?"

"Goddamn it, Bella. Knock it off."

She gives me a sad smile. "She must be something else."

I walk back to my desk and sag into my chair. "I may be a real bastard, Bits. But I ain't a cheater. I'd never disrespect you like that." I hold a hand over my heart. "Swear on my old man's grave."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she shakes her head. "Don't sit there and pretend you respect me."

"You know what?" I'm out of my seat again. "I'm not doin' this with you. Quit bitchin', get me my scotch and go clean up that mess." I point to the kitchen. "Now!"

Turning on her heel, she stomps away. I hear the cabinet door opening and closing, dishes rattling and my wife's footsteps coming up the hall.

"Fuckin' finally," I mutter when she appears in the doorway.

"I won't let you do this to me!"

"Do what?" I widen my arms. "Provide your living?"

Her eyes go wide and next thing I know I'm dodging a bottle and hearing it smash against the wall behind me.

"What the fuck, Bits?"

"I hate you," she yells as tears stream down her cheeks.

"Clean this shit up!"

"Clean it yourself," she spits over her shoulder as I chase her to the guest room.

Slamming the door in my face, I hear the lock click. I knock a few times, but she ignores me so I tell her I want everything cleaned up by morning. My wife's sobs follow me all the way back to my office.

* * *

I wake the next morning in my office chair, surrounded by the stench of booze and broken glass on the floor. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I check my watch. It's nearly nine and Paulie should be by any minute.

The guest room door is still closed so I knock softly. "Bella?"

She doesn't answer. Hell, she doesn't even stir.

I shower and shave and iron a shirt for the first time in ages. _It ain't pretty_. By the time I get my tie on, Paulie's ringing the doorbell.

"Mornin', Eddie." He hands me my newspaper and steps inside. "Jesus!" His eyes go wide when he catches sight of the dinner table still set from last night. "What the hell happened here?"

"Don't ask."

"See," he points to the mess in the dining room, "this is why you don't marry a debutante. They look good on your arm, but can't keep house for shit."

"Shut up and get in the car." I push him out of the house and head back to the guest room. "I'm headin' out, Bits."

She doesn't respond, so I try again.

"I'm sorry about last night. I've just got a lot goin' on and I, uh … I don't know, said some stuff I didn't mean."

Still nothing.

"Listen, tonight I'm all yours. I'll take you out. Dinner and dancin' or whatever you want, all right?"

I slip my hat onto my head and hit the road. I'm pretty much useless for the rest of the day; unable to forget what a prick I was to her last night. I call her a good five or six times, but she doesn't pick up, so I send her a couple of bouquets and make reservations for us to eat at the Pump Room tonight.

* * *

Six o'clock rolls around and I pull up to our place only to find the two bouquets on either side of our evening paper on the porch. I motion to Liam to drive forward.

"How's your day goin', Mr. C?"

"I've had better." I thumb towards my house. "The missus didn't come to the door to get the flowers?"

"She didn't answer for either delivery."

 _Shit, she's still pissed._ "All right. Thanks."

Sliding my hands in my pockets, I head up the walk to face the music. "Bella?" I call as I open the door and step inside, only to see dinner from last night still on the table, but my wife is nowhere to be found.

My fucking stomach drops and I reach for my piece. "Where you at, Bits?"

I hear nothing but silence.

The office still smells like booze and there's glass all over the floor, but the guest room door is open with the bed unmade. I run through every room in the house, including the garage where her car sits untouched. Everything is exactly where I left it this morning.

But Bits is gone.

* * *

 **A/N: Eeep … Bits.**

 **Care and I are loving all the answers we get to our questions each week. As a matter of fact, we were super happy to see one of the fics that we were hoping for actually updated. So here's another question for you, pals – which fic has your fave Bella and why?**

 **See you guys Thursday! Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, or lurked this fic!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
** **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **Thursday, March 15, 1956  
** **12:17 AM**

Glasses snaps his fingers at me a few times. "Mr. Cullen."

"Are we boring you?" Slick sneers as he pounds on the table.

I check my watch. "Sorry fellas. It's late and I'm tired." Smirking, I jerk my chin at Slick. "How 'bout you run and fetch me some coffee?"

He flips me the bird.

"Anyway, what were you askin' me about?"

* * *

 **September 1955**

My heart races in my chest and I feel like my ribs are closing in on my lungs. I can barely fucking breathe as I search through the rooms of our home for the second and third and fourth time. Loosening my tie, I grab the phone and dial my in-laws, praying she's over there and just pissed at her no-good husband.

"Hello?" Renee answers.

"Hey, Renee." I keep my voice low, trying not to sound too worked-up. "It's Edward."

"Well, hello there, how are you?"

"Good, uh …" Leaning against the kitchen wall, I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I was wondering if Bella's over there visiting, by chance?"

"She's not."

My stomach drops. "Oh, okay. We've got dinner reservations so she's probably on her way home then anyway."

"Probably."

"Thanks."

I hang up and dial Rose. Her housekeeper tells me that she's on her way home from the city today, so I head outside to check with a few of the neighbors. None of them have seen her, even the nib-nose across the street who's constantly trying to peddle her plastic cups and bowls to my wife every chance she gets. I try my mother next, even though she cursed me out for a good ten minutes earlier today for not showing up to dinner last night. She tells me Bits isn't there and takes the opportunity to curse me out some more.

The minutes tick by like hours.

I watch as the second hand winds around the clock face twice and in those two hours I've wound myself up as well. Pacing and praying, I try to push away this fucking sick feeling and rid my mind of the horrible images and scenarios that keep playing in my head.

Normally I can brush those kinds of things off, but not today. Not with the possibility that Bits is somewhere with that rat-faced, piece of shit, Neri.

I empty the contents of my stomach at the thought and slump onto the bathroom tile. Tearing at my hair, I will myself to pull it together. _Fuckin' think, Edward. Think._

I walk through the rooms again, looking for signs of a struggle, but there's nothing. Stuffing my hands in my pocket, a few bills crinkle and a new thought occurs to me. I beat feet to her closet, searching for anything missing. A suitcase. A pocketbook. But nothing's amiss that I can tell. The suitcases are all there and Bits has more pocketbooks and clutches than anyone I've ever met.

I head to the bathroom again, this time rifling through drawers, but everything's still there. All ten types of cold cream and garbage she puts on her face every night before bed. There's not a thing out of place, so I run out to the shed behind the house to check in the old Coleman camp stove where I keep a few stacks of money that I socked away for a rainy day … or bail. I remember mentioning it to her in passing when we moved in, thinking she should know where it is just in case. When I pop open the top, it's all there and I toss my cookies again into the bushes.

By nine o'clock, I'm driving like a mad man down the few blocks to Em's house. Coming to a screeching halt in his driveway, I throw it in park and tear across his lawn only to bang on his front door, yelling like a fucking lunatic to let me in.

"Jesus Christ!" He opens the door and widens his arms. "What the hell, Ed?"

I push past him, pulling off my hat with one hand and gripping my hair with the other. "She's gone!"

"Who?"

"Bits, man. Fuckin' gone." I step close and my voice breaks. "He's got her, I know it."

Closing the door softly, his eyes shift from me to upstairs. "Let's go to my office."

"No time, man. You hear me?" In his face now, I'm pointing to my ear. "He's _got_ my wife. I swear to God, Em." I swallow. "I swear to God, I'll kill every last fuckin' livin' relative that piece of shit has if anything ..."

Putting a finger over his lips, he shushes me and glances up the stairs again.

"Don't you fuckin' tell me to be quiet." I smack my chest. "My _wife_ , Em, is somewhere with that sick fuck and—"

I hear another shush, but this time it's coming from the landing above us. Rose comes flying down the staircase, looking rough with her hair in curlers and no make-up. She scowls at me all the way down until she reaches the bottom and pokes me in the chest as hard as she can.

"I swear on my life, Edward Cullen, if you wake my son, I will knock your block off!" Baring her teeth, she jabs me once more. "How dare you!"

I cast an eyeball at my cousin, not wanting to be disrespectful to his missus, but this shit ain't gonna fly.

"How dare you barge in here at this hour, boohooing about where your wife is! The better question here is where were you, huh?"

Her finger hits my chest again, and I stare at my cousin, waiting for him to call this crazy broad off.

"You've been a goddamn ghost the past few weeks and now you care all of a sudden?" She tilts her head and crosses her hands over her chest. " _Now_ you want to play the loving husband?"

I shove my hand in pocket so I don't put a finger in _her_ face. "I love my wife more than anything, Ro—"

"HA!" She sneers and steps forward. "That's rich."

Clearing my throat, my eyes move to the floor and I'm barely able to keep my voice even. "I think she's in some trouble because of me. She's uh …" I shake my head, trying to get the words out. "She's gone."

Tipping her head back, her shoulders shake with quiet laughter. I glance at Em again, wanting him to reach down and find his balls so he can put his mouthy missus in her place. When I look back to Rose, all traces of amusement are gone.

"You really are a piece of work, aren't you?" She turns and moves to the stairs. "You would jump to that conclusion. That someone would harm _her_ to stick it to _you_." She clucks her tongue. "Pathetic."

"Rose." Em finally finds his balls, sharply addressing her with narrowed eyes and silently scolding her for running her mouth with a look.

"Oh, I'm sorry." But she doesn't sound sorry as she mock curtsies. "Did I forget my place?"

"Enough with the sass." My cousin snaps his fingers. "You need to tell him."

"But—"

" _Now_ , Rose."

Propping a hand on her hip, she sighs. "She's not gone." A grin spreads over her face. "She _left_."

"She left," I repeat quietly while Rose looks on, clearly pleased by my discomfort.

The pain is acute and I liken it to getting kicked in the crotch over and over and over again. I remember the last time I got kicked in the nuts was in Havana when Momo was two-timing his then-girlfriend with a showgirl. I'll never forget the Rockette-style kick the dancer gave me between the legs when I tried to escort her out of the room. I swear to God I tasted blood and it was quite possibly the worst pain I've ever experienced in my life.

Until now.

My cousin moves to stand beside his wife and dips his chin in my direction. "Tell him where."

She juts her hip out and inspects her nails. "The Drake. Ninth floor. I don't remember the room number."

I process her words, trying to make sense of them and the conflicting emotions I'm having. _Relief_. Sweet, fucking relief that my Bits is safe and sound in the city and not in the clutches of that animal.

But then the pain in my chest reminds me that she _chose_ to leave me. I let that shit sink in for a moment or two and try to come to terms with her choice.

Smoothing my hair down, I slip my hat back on my head and nod to my cousin and Rose before walking out the door. Em follows me out. "Where you goin'?"

"To get my wife."

"Make it right, Ed."

I turn back to look at him as he leans against the door jamb with his arms crossed over his chest. "I will."

"We need to handle this Philly situation. No more fuckin' around."

"I got it."

"Good luck."

I walk away and don't look back because I don't need luck. Bits is my wife and I'm her husband, for better or worse. Leaving this marriage isn't an option for either one of us. It just ain't gonna happen.

'Cause _I_ don't choose that.

* * *

Forty-minutes later, I'm sliding a few bills to the guy at the front desk of the Drake for a key and any information on my wife's comings and goings today, which isn't much apart from him making her a reservation for lunch at The Palm Court and a room service charge this evening. I stare at myself in the gold elevator doors, clenching and unclenching my jaw with each floor we climb as I try to keep my cool.

Once I reach her door, I take a deep breath and exhale slow. Slipping inside, I see the bed's been turned down, but Bitsy is nowhere in sight. The radio's on with the volume low. Some McGuire Sister's number that Bits likes is playing. There's a light on in the bathroom and I'm guessing she's in there. As I step closer, I notice several dress bags are hanging in the closet and a few hat and shoe boxes are lined up against the wall. _Looks like my wife had a field day spending money I didn't know she had._

Placing my hand on the knob, I will myself to stay calm. But as I push open the door and see her there in the tub with her fresh-from-the-beauty-parlor-hair piled high on top of her head, luxuriating in mountains of suds I lose it.

"Did you have any idea how worried I'd be?"

Glaring at me, she angrily swipes at the mascara smeared beneath her eyes and repeats my words from last night. "Poor _you_."

I grab a towel and toss it at her. "You've got three minutes to get your ass out of the tub and in that bedroom."

She throws the now wet towel to the floor and stays put.

"I'm not kidding, Bella. Get out of that tub."

"Or what?"

I take three steps and bend over, getting right in her face. "You and that fuckin' lip, I swear to God, Bits you're so lucky I'm not –"

"HA!" She throws her head back and slaps the top of the water, splashing me in the process. "Lucky?" Her eyes meet mine and all I see is fucking fire and fury behind them. "Exactly how does being married to you constitute as lucky?"

"Enough with the theatrics."

"Somebody pinch me, I must be dreaming I'm so lucky!"

"That's bullshit."

"Tell me about it."

I tap my watch. "You've got two minutes."

Turning, I storm out of the bathroom and slam the door behind me. I make a beeline to the drink cart and smile to myself when I hear the slosh of water from the tub and wet footsteps padding along the tile. Admittedly, I feel a bit smug that she actually listened to me. That is until she turns the lock on the door and the click echoes throughout the room.

"Damn it, Bits! Get out here."

All I hear is silence in response.

Patting my pockets for my smokes, I come up empty and mutter out a few curses.

With two quick raps on the bathroom door, I tell her I'm running down to grab a pack and I want her waiting for me when I return. I'm met with more silence, so I try to soften my tone. "I wanna fix this, all right? Just, uh, give me a chance to fix it."

More silence.

My night just gets shittier when I reach the lobby. The gift shop is closed, the cigarette machine is broken and the concierge is off duty so he can't do my bidding. Thankfully, a friendly broad at the front desk points me in the direction of the swanky hotel bar.

Heading into the bar, I keep my eyes peeled for the nearest machine, but instead I see a cigarette girl laughing and flirting with a table of rowdy fellas. While she's trading jokes, they're checking out her wares. I don't have time for jokes or small talk so I jerk my chin at the bartender, and wave a few bills. "You got any smokes behind the bar for sale?"

He shakes his head and continues to wipe down his counter. "No, sir."

 _Fuck_. "Guess I'll get in line for Blondie then."

"You don't need to get in line, sir. Hey, Irina," he shouts over the songbird crooning by the piano in the corner of the room.

Blondie's eyes snap to the bartender then to me and the corners of her mouth lift when she sees the bills in my hands. Sauntering over, her grin stretches across her face and her hips work overtime.

"So," she rolls her shoulders back, giving me a view of the goods, "what can I get for you?"

Not making eye contact, I fix my eyes on my brand of smokes. "Pack of Pall Malls, please."

"You sure, sugar?" She steps closer and. "I've got Lucky's in the back."

 _I'm sure I'd get more than Lucky Strikes in that back room_. "Pall Malls." I hand her a little scratch. "Please."

The noisy fellas quiet down and I notice something has their attention. The dark-haired one on the end straightens his tie and his buddy pats him on the back as he stands to leave. Even Blondie peers over my shoulder to get a gander at whatever's got the unruly guys clamming up.

I turn slightly only to see my wife at the bar ordering a drink. Wearing a dress that would make any grown man's tongue wag, she's fucking stunning as she slips onto the stool and props her chin on her hand.

"Your change, mister?" Blondie blurts, tapping me on the shoulder.

I don't look back. "Keep it."

Instead I watch as the young suit-wearing punk leans against the bar beside her. He gives her his best aww-shucks-ma'am-smile, probably trying to charm her with his prep school bullshit manners. My fucking blood boils when he puts his hand out for her to shake, but immediately cools when Bits puts her left hand up to show him her sparkler.

Unaffected, he continues to chat her up. Having seen enough, I make my way over and place a hand on my wife's lower back. "I'll take it from here, Junior ."

His lips press together in a hard line, but he throws his hands up in mock surrender, nodding at us both as he walks away.

"A ginger ale for the lady." The bartender places a glass in front of Bits. "What can I get you sir?"

"I'll take an Old Fashioned."

We watch in silence as he steps away to make my drink.

"Ginger ale?" I point to her glass. "I didn't know you were a fan."

"I'm not, but it's helped every time I've felt sick today at the thought of you."

The bartender sets my drink in front of me. Once he steps away, I pick up my glass and turn to my wife. "How _did_ we get here, Bits?" Fully expecting silence, I open my mouth to speak, but she cuts me off before I even start.

"We're here because somewhere along the way you've decided to stop respecting me."

"That's not true."

"It _is_ true. And it's disappointing."

"It's no—"

"But I happen to respect myself enough for the both of us."

"So you left?"

She shrugs a shoulder. "It seems you needed a reminder."

Covering the side of my face with my hand, I shake my head. "Bella, you have no fuckin' idea what I'm dealin' with right now."

"You're right. I don't. It appears our talk about honesty went right out the window along with the discussion about respect." She takes a slow sip of her ginger ale and swallows before turning to me. "So forgive me for not having a clue as to what you're _dealing_ with."

"Did you ever think that maybe I'm doin' what's best for you?"

"I think you're doing what's best for _you_."

"Not true."

"You don't think I've seen this before? A heavy caseload? Late nights? Questions answered with _don't worry your pretty little head about it_?"

"This is about safety, Bits. I'm not like your old man."

"Safety?" Her eyebrows lift and I notice she grips her glass tighter. "Well in that case, you're right. If it was a question of safety, my father would've given us a heads up and a ticket out of town until the situation was taken care of." She glances down at her glass. "So I suppose you're nothing like him in _that_ respect."

My brow furrows. "You can't know how he'd react."

Swinging her head in my direction, she levels me with a glare. "My father is a judge, Edward. We've had bricks thrown through our windows, threats of violence against me and my mother over cases he was assigned. I can't tell you how many times I was handed mug shots of criminals and told to run if ever approached. Or how often my mother pulled me out of school to take me on impromptu vacations to Door County for extended periods of time." She points to herself. "My father is a piece of shit in many respects–"

"Language."

"But whenever there was a threat, he damn well made sure that we were fully aware of what was coming for us."

Being deemed less honorable than one of the most dishonorable people I know stops me short. The very idea of Charlie Swan being better than me in any area of marriage … I bristle at the thought. "You don't get it."

"No. I don't." She leans close. "Because I would _never_ keep you in the dark."

I swallow and look anywhere but at her. My eyes fall on the bills she placed on the bar. "Oh yeah? Well if you're not in the business of keepin' me in the dark, where'd you get the cheddar to get a room at the Drake, huh?" I gesture upstairs. "Or for the little shoppin' trip you took today?"

Sighing, she looks away. "It's just something I socked away in case."

"In case what? Huh? In case you wanna leave your no-good husband?"

"My mother said –"

I roll my eyes. "Your mother …"

"Listen, my mother may be an idiot for putting up with my father, but she didn't raise a fool." She points to herself. " _I_ will not be made a fool of, Edward Cullen. By you or anyone else."

A few fellas sit down beside us at the bar, eyeing us warily. I finish off my drink and hold my hand out to my wife. "Dance with me, Bits."

"No."

"Come on."

"Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"Because we're fighting and the last thing I want to do is dance with _you_."

Standing, I slip my hand over hers. "We fight better dancing than any couple I know."

She glances away, but I swear I see a hint of a smile. "True."

"Come on. You can let me have it all you want, so long as I get to hold ya while you're doin' it."

"Fine."

The singer's in the middle of some Doris Day number as I lead my wife across the room to the dance floor. Bitsy's eyes don't leave mine as she lets me pull her close and squeezes my fingers with hers. "Well, this feels familiar."

"Dancing with your husband?"

"Dancing with my husband and asking questions he refuses to answer." She smirks. "And when he does answer, he just gives me bits and pieces."

Licking my lips, I lean down to whisper in her ear. "Ask me whatever you want, Bits."

"All right. But I want the truth."

"Of course."

She raises her chin. "Is there someone else?"

I shake my head. "Never."

"Swear it."

"On everything, truly. I wouldn't step out on you." I lift my hand to brush my knuckles along her cheek. "Not ever."

"So where were you?"

"The horse track. I went out there for a meetin', had a few too many drinks, played some cards, and before I knew it I was late for dinner."

"Hours late."

"I was just blowin' off steam, Bits. I've been goin' stir crazy in that hospital."

Lowering her eyes, she stares at my tie. "Blowing off steam is more important than seeing your wife?"

"Not at all."

"Then why was that the priority?"

"It wasn't. I didn't intend it to be." Flustered, I stop swaying. "It's just, I don't know, it's not safe right now."

"For whom? You or me?"

"Either of us … because of me."

Concern colors her features as she meets my stare. "Who's after you?"

I hesitate a moment. "Philly."

"Philly? Philly Neri?"

"That's the one."

"Why would he be after you?"

 _Power. Revenge for taking his place. Because he's a greasy prick and a real piece of shit._ "Lots of reasons."

"Did he …" she fades off, looking around to see if anyone can hear her over the music. "Is he responsible for what happened to Carlisle?"

I nod. "And my father."

Another couple joins us on the floor and they're dancing too close for us to continue this conversation, but we don't leave. I hold my wife tight for three more songs, murmuring apologies and promises into her ear.

"You gonna forgive me, Bits?"

With a non-committal shrug, she lolls her head toward the door. "I'm tired."

The elevator ride back to the room is silent save for the hellos and how do you do's to the operator running it. She's got that poker face going again and even though she's curled into my side, I have no idea where we stand.

Opening the door to the room, I follow her in and watch her reach into one of the many bags on the floor to pull out a new pair of pajamas.

"You goin' to bed?"

"That's the plan."

"What about what's goin' on with us?" I wave a hand between me and her. "You don't want to put _that_ to bed first?"

"When you're ready to be honest, I'll be all ears."

"But I have," I lean against the bathroom doorway, "I've been honest."

Unzipping her dress, she lets it drop and steps out of it. "Only when pressed."

"Maybe I was doin' what I thought was best for you."

"You were doing what was best for _you_."

"Bullshit."

"It _is_ bullshit."

"Language, Bella."

She rolls her eyes. "So let me get this straight. Not telling me that there was a possibility that I could get caught up in something was best for _me_?"

"I sent you to your parents to keep you safe. _You_ chose to leave there without tellin' me."

"You said you didn't want me _alone_ , not that you wanted to keep me safe."

"I didn't want to worry you."

"So instead of worrying me, you keep me in the dark and avoid me all together? That makes sense."

"You're twistin' this shit around. I made sure someone was there watchin' when I couldn't be there!"

"A lotta good that did. I slipped right out the back."

I thumb my chest. "I was always lookin' out for you."

Pulling her earrings off, she glares at me through the reflection in the mirror. "You're a liar, Edward Cullen. The only person you were looking out for was _you_."

"I'm not doin' this with you. You wanted the truth. I gave you the truth. You wanna turn this around like I wasn't tryin' to do right by you – that's fuckin' fine."

"You gave me half-truths and bullshit excuses."

"I'm not gonna tell you again to watch your mouth."

She folds her arms across her chest. "Or what?"

 _Good question. Anything I threaten will be empty. I'll never leave and I'd definitely never put my hands on her, although sometimes the mouth on her has me tempted to do just that._ "Or nothin', just watch your language and act like a lady."

Leaning over the sink, she washes her face and ignores me entirely. I go back to the room, letting her get ready for bed in private. Twenty minutes later, she comes out of the bathroom looking sadder than before and dog-tired.

"We're not going to bed until this is settled," I tell her, snuffing out a cigarette. "I'm gonna take a leak. When I get back, I expect you to cut it out with the backtalk." I point to myself. "I'm your husband, Bits. I make mistakes, but I'm good to you."

She punches her pillow until she likes the shape of it then slips into bed, never once acknowledging me or my words. With a huff, I head into the bathroom to take a quick piss and wash up.

Splashing the water onto my face, I stare at my reflection in the mirror and give myself a silent pep talk. If all Bits wants is honesty then I'll give it to her. I'll just have to pray that she doesn't leave me again when she gets it.

"I'm an open book, Bits," I tell her as I toss the towel on the sink and step back into the room. "Ask me anything."

All I hear in response are my wife's soft snores.

* * *

Three hours later, she stirs in her bed then sits up to find me leaning against the window looking out over Lake Michigan. Smoke swirls up and around as I exhale slow. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Scooting her back against the headboard, she shrugs. "It's fine."

"Go back to bed." I flick my cigarette against the ashtray. "You're tired."

"I thought you wanted to talk."

"I did." I take a drag and hold the smoke in my mouth. "I mean, I do. Whenever you want."

"So let's talk."

Nodding, I snuff out my cig and let the smoke billow out of my mouth. "So," I slump into a chair and lean forward, bringing my elbows to my knees, "honesty, right?"

"Always."

I rub my hands together. "Always. Right, um. So maybe I thought if I was honest about all of it, you'd decide that stickin' with me ain't in your best interest. I, uh," I shake my head, not able to meet her eyes, "I'm involved with some real bad people, Bits. And I'm no angel myself, you know?"

"So you assumed I'd leave?"

"If you even knew the half of it, you'd turn tail so fuckin' fast. And I wouldn't even blame you, it's just, I don't know, I thought that if you didn't know that side of my life, you'd never have a reason to leave, you know? I just didn't want to take that chance."

"I see." She folds one hand over the other in her lap. "So you don't trust me?"

"I trust you."

"But you don't trust that I'll love you no matter what?"

I chuckle, but there's not an ounce of humor behind it. "I don't think you have any idea how far I can stretch that _no matter what_ , Bits. If you had an inkling about the things I've seen and done. What I'm _really_ fuckin' capable of … " I can't even finish the sentence.

She beckons me over with a finger and when I crawl onto the bed beside her, she pats her lap. I lay my head down, just above her knees and stare up at her. "Tell me about it."

"What do you want to know?"

Running her fingers over my temples and through my hair, she answers the question the same way I did on our first date. " _Everything_."

So I tell her everything. I tell her about seeing my mother hysterical over my father's bullet-riddled body in the morgue and how I pulled the trigger without an ounce of hesitation or regret on the slaughterhouse floor at the Stockyards. I speak about my time in Cuba, but not about the stars and the shows and the hospitality angle. Instead, I tell her about getting my first taste of this life under Momo's wing.

"Keep going," she whispers softly.

Closing my eyes at the feel of her fingernails softly combing through my hair, I move on to the night I met her. How hard and how fast I fell for her and the lengths I would've gone to just to have her as my own.

She runs a fingertip over my eyelids. "What else?"

I feel like I'm in confession as I own up to all the awful things I did. Jimmy. Benny. Lay Low Jeffries. Conning the Bronzeville crew into handling our little problem with the Russians. I finally look up at her when I get to Philly. I tell her everything, including the warning that set this whole fight in motion.

"He said, 'not unless I see you first, kid.'" I grab her hand and hold it over my heart. "On my father's grave, Bella, you were the only thing I thought of in that moment. Keepin' you safe."

Several minutes of silence pass and I can tell she's trying to work through everything I've just admitted to. Taking a deep breath, she finally speaks. "Okay."

"Okay?" I sit up. "Okay as in 'okay, I get it' or okay as in 'I'm gonna have you arrested and locked up for life?'"

The corner of her mouth twitches, but she doesn't look up from her lap. "I'm not going to have you arrested _or_ locked up for life."

"You could though." I gently lift her chin with my knuckle. "You know that right? All that shit you know. They'd throw the fuckin' book at me."

Glassy-eyed, she runs her teeth over her bottom lip as I cup her face with my hand. "I wouldn't." Placing her palm over mine, she leans into my touch. "Ever."

"You still want to leave me?"

"I didn't want to leave you in the first place. I just thought you needed –"

"A reminder," I finish her sentence, touching my temple, "I remember you mentioning that earlier."

"I needed your attention."

"I get it, but damn, Bits. You, uh …" I scoot back on the bed until I'm sitting beside her against the headboard. "You've got a way of makin' the punishment fit the crime."

She smirks. "Then don't make me punish you."

I bring the back of her hand to my lips and kiss it softly. "I won't."

"And don't keep me in the dark anymore." I open my mouth to object, but she silences me with a finger. "I don't need the gory details, but I won't accept half-truths and outright lies."

"You're gonna think I'm a monster."

Shaking her head, she scoots closer to me and holds my face with both of hers. "What you _do_ and who you _are_ ," she pauses to trace my lip with her thumb, "they're two completely different things. You told me what you _do_ for a living. You advise. You counsel. You weigh the options. You offer solutions. You handle things when necessary and sometimes those things are horrific, but that's not who you _are_."

"It's hard to separate the two sometimes."

"Not if you could see yourself the way I do."

"You should get your eyes checked."

Tilting her head, she sighs.

"Sorry." I kiss her palm. "Bad joke."

Sliding down, she lays her head on the pillow and looks up at me. "It was."

"Do you forgive me, Bits?"

"For the joke?"

"For everything." I lie down beside her. "All of it. Bein' a lousy husband. Keepin' you in the dark. Makin' you cry." I drop my voice to a whisper. "Makin' you want to leave."

Her eyes get watery again. "Yes."

I swipe my thumb beneath her eye, not wanting another tear to fall. "Still love me?"

Sniffing, she nods.

"C'mere." I wrap my arms around her and whisper that I love her over and over again until she's all cried out.

Several minutes later, when she's done sobbing and her breathing has evened out, she speaks softly against my chest. "You're going to handle him, right?"

My hand skims up and down her back, hoping she stays calm when I answer. "Yeah."

I feel her exhale deeply. "Good."

"I'm gonna need a favor though, Bits."

"What is it?" Pulling back slightly, she glances up to meet my stare. "What do you need?"

"Handling this is gonna be hard enough without distractions."

She smirks. "Am I a distraction?"

I give her backside a squeeze. "The best kind."

"You need me out of the way?"

"I need you somewhere _safe._ Just until all of this blows over."

"You want me to go back to my parent's house?"

"No." I shake my head. "I was thinking further away."

"How much further away?"

"A nice little getaway. You and my ma."

"To where."

"Niagara Falls."

Her brows rise. "Niagara Falls?"

"Yeah. I hear it's beautiful this time of year."

"For how long?"

"Until it's _safe_." I rest my forehead to hers. "Might take a few days. Maybe a week. Two at the most for us to catch up with him."

"And when you do?"

"I don't know exactly what I'll do when I catch up with him."

Giving me the moon-eyes, she strokes my face with her fingertips. "I'm sure you'll come up with something."

"It's been a long time coming."

Smiling, she kisses my cheek and her lips move to my ear. "Then make the punishment fit the crime."

* * *

 **A/N: So … good news – chapter 16 is ready to go and it's a doozy. Not so good news for readers, I'm going on Lay-cay next week to Universal and Disney. Mr. Lay has kindly requested that I leave the fandom and my laptop at home. *Carrie ZM opens and umbrella – shielding us from you guys throwing all the things at us***

 **There's so much good stuff out there to read – you guys won't even miss me – but legit – I feel bad about this so if you leave a review – I'll send you a teaser in my reply.**

 **We loved all of your answers for fave Bella! This week we've got a question about the original Twilight series. If Stephenie Meyer said she was going to write the love story of another one of the couples – which couple would you choose and why?**

 **See you guys in two Thursdays! Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, or lurked this fic!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **Thursday, March 15, 1956  
** **12:19 AM**

"Let's talk about the afternoon of October 5, 1955." Glasses fans out a few crime scene photos. One is of Sammy Teet's bloodied body on the street in front of Paulie's barbershop and the others are of some poor barber who got caught in the crossfire and a couple of McKinley Park pricks who got what was coming to them.

Slick knocks on the table. "You remember what happened on this day or is that memory of yours still fuzzy?"

"Yeah." I nod. "I remember this day well."

 _For lots of reasons.  
_

* * *

 **October 5, 1955**

"Keep the change," I tell the drug store clerk as I slip my hat back on my head and take my paper sack.

Felix is parked along the curb, having a smoke while he waits for me. "Did you get everything?"

Opening the door, I climb inside. "I think so."

"Good." He adjusts his mirror as I shut the door and speeds off. "So what's the plan again?"

"Capos bring their tribute to the barbershop at 2:30. After that, you, Em, and Paulie'll take five guys from each crew over to that bowlin' alley those 42nd Street boys spotted Mikey at."

"What time?"

"I'm thinking around nine or ten o'clock tonight." I shrug. "I don't know. That's up to Em."

"Any ideas as to how we're gonna handle 'em once we're there?"

"Not my call."

He grins. "Paulie's got a few ideas."

"I'll bet he does."

"He thinks we should go in there, beat 'em about the head and neck with the bowling pins."

"Sounds messy."

"We'll leave 'em breathin', but not conscious, then we set fire to the joint."

"That's one way to do it."

Tossing his cigarette into the street, he leans back in his seat. "Now me? I still wanna toss a few of those fucks into the rock quarry. We can make it a competition."

"What? Like bocce ball?"

He snaps his fingers and points. "That's a good idea."

"Eh. Pitch it to the boss, he just might go for it."

"You comin' along tonight?"

I shake my head. "Nah, I'm drivin' Bitsy and my ma to the airport once the meetin' is over."

"Niagara Falls, right?"

Twisting my lips, I nod and look out the window.

"Kate's gonna give me shit about that."

"Why's that?"

"I sent her and the kids to her parent's cottage on Lake Shafer last night."

"That sounds nice."

"It's not Niagara Falls by any means."

"Bits ain't too happy about it."

"You should tell her what I say to my better-half."

"What's that?"

Pulling up to my house, he throws the car in park. "Ask her if she wants a week off from housework or a bullet in the head. That always seems to work."

Laughing, I get out of the car. "Your wife should be sainted for puttin' up with you."

"I'll see you later on this afternoon."

I shut the door and slap the top of his car. "Thanks for the lift."

Once he's rounded the corner, I head around to the shed in the backyard to grab a little dough for Bits and my ma to have a nice time on their trip. Popping open the Coleman camp stove, I see a shitload of bills and a small envelope on top that makes me smile when I read the words written in my wife's perfect penmanship. _Mad money_.

The past couple of days have been swell since our little honesty discussion at the Drake. There are no more secrets on my end and this cash-filled envelope lets me know that there are none on Bitsy's end either. For the first time this month, things are finally looking up.

"All right, Bits," I call out as I walk through the front door, "they didn't have any Alka Seltzer so I got Fizrin instead in case you get sick on the plane. I also picked you up a few magazines and some candy." I pop my head in the kitchen, but she's not there. "Bits?"

"Back here."

"How's the packin' comin'?" I ask, turning the corner to our bedroom only to find the suitcases still on the bed, as empty as I left them this morning. Sitting quietly beside them with her ankles crossed and her hands clasped in her lap is my wife staring back at me wide-eyed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

I toss my hat on the bureau and lean against the doorway. "Then why aren't you packed?"

"I went and visited Dr. Gerandy this morning." She looks down at her fingers. "He said I should cancel my trip."

"Well who asked _him_?"

"I did."

I smirk. "You went and got a doctor's note to get outta travelin' with my mother?"

"No."

"Then why can't you go?"

"Because," she runs her hands over the tops of her thighs, smoothing down the fabric of her skirt, "air travel isn't recommended for someone in my delicate condition."

Just as I'm about to ask her what condition, it hits me like a ton of bricks. "Bits!" I scramble over to her side, crouching down to look her in the eyes. "You're in the family way?"

Meeting my gaze, she nods and puts a hand on her stomach. "Dr. Gerandy wasn't sure if it'd be May or June, but yes."

"A baby." I grin. "I'm gonna be a father."

Smiling, she looks down and sighs. "The _best_."

I lift her chin. "How're you holdin' up?"

"I'm a little tired."

"Here," I push the suitcase to the ground, "lie back and take a load off." Holding up my bag, I plop down beside her. "I got you some magazines to read on the plane." I toss an issue of Life magazine on the bed. "It's got that Rock Hudson character you like to drool over on the cover."

She wags her brows. "He's a dreamboat."

"If you say so." Reaching into the bag, I pull out the other magazines. "I also got you Good Housekeeping and –"

"Edward?"

I look up. "Hmm?"

"You're happy?"

"Happy doesn't even cover it." I lie down beside her, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm thrilled, Bits."

"I was worried about the timing of all this."

"Eh," I tip my head back and forth, "it's not ideal, but none of that matters anymore. The situation will be resolved soon enough."

"Good."

"I can't believe it." Skimming my hand down her side, I stop short of her stomach, hovering over it before asking permission to touch it. "Can I?"

"Of course."

"You feel different?"

"Not really. Just a little run down and nauseous every now and again."

"My old man said my ma was real sick when she was expecting me. He told me that's how he knew I was a boy. His little wiseguy." I point to her belly. "That's the Cullen in him; you wait and see, Bits."

"You think it's a boy?"

"God willing."

"What if it's a girl?"

"Then it's a girl and I'm sure she'll have me wrapped around her finger, just like her mother."

* * *

Checking my watch, I see that I'm a few minutes early for the meeting, but it looks like all the fellas are already here. They're probably having a few drinks and bullshitting in the back room. Any other day, I'd be right in there with them, cocktailing and breaking balls. But today, I'm more interested in making sure my wife's following the doc's orders to take it easy. I glance at my watch again then look at the pay phone. _Eh, I've got the time._

"Hey mister," the youngster I met at the Festival of Saint Rocco waves from a nearby stoop. _Alan? Alex? Al?_

"How ya' doin', kid?"

"I'm bored." He brings his baseball bat to his shoulder and tosses a ball up in the air, snatching it on the way down. I follow his eyes to a couple girls, jumping rope a few houses down.

"Apple on a stick. Five cents a lick," they sing with each hop. "Every time I turn around, it makes me sick."

I jerk my thumb at the little ladies. "Girl watchin'?"

Indignant, he scowls. "Nope."

I look back at the girls. "Which one you scopin'? The blonde?"

"Woof! No, that's Janie."

"She's cute."

"She's my sister."

Holding my hands up, I laugh. "Just yankin' your chain, kid."

"Al," he corrects.

"Al." I nod. "You eyein' the redhead?"

He tries not to smile. "Maggie ain't so bad, I guess."

"Go talk to her."

"Nah."

"You should." I open the door to the payphone. "I'll bet she's sweet on ya'." Picking up the receiver, I smirk. "I'm callin' _my_ sweetheart now."

He winks. "Tell her I said hi."

 _Smartass_. "Very funny."

"Come on, Al!" the little redhead yells, waving him over. "We're playin' kick the can, let's go hide."

Reaching down, he grabs his mitt off the stoop. "See ya' around, mister."

"Good luck, kid!"

Dropping the dime in the slot, I whistle some tune I heard on the radio as I wind the dial. I flinch at the feel of cold steel being pressed against the skin on the back of my neck, followed by sound of the bullet being loaded into the chamber.

The split-second feels like minutes. I close my eyes and see a life I'll never know play out in my head. Bitsy, beautiful as always, round with my child. A messy-bronze-haired boy with my smirk and my wife's eyes. I'm just about to pray to Christ that our little one gets her brains and that they know how much I loved them when I hear a familiar slice and gurgling sound.

The metal on my neck is gone and when I turn around, I see Aro yanking his knife out of some prick's skull and dragging his body up a ways before dropping it between a couple of cars.

Wiping his knife off on the guy's suit, he looks up at me. "You all right?"

Unable to speak, I just nod frantically. I hear the screeching of tires on the pavement and the sound of car doors opening and closing behind me.

"Get down!" Grabbing my jacket, he brings me to the ground and we crawl behind a nearby Buick.

"Shit," I hiss when I hear gunfire erupt from the barbershop and pull out my piece. As Aro goes to reach for his, I see another fella behind him, aiming his gun in our direction. "Look out!"

The gunman's knees buckle and his revolver goes flying, clattering on the sidewalk a few feet away from us. Behind him, Al's swinging for the fences, putting a beating on him with his bat.

"Get down, kid!" I yell, turning back to see the gunfight is making its way out to the streets. Sammy Teets is shooting two guns, firing from behind a big blue mailbox and Lou's got a rifle propped up on the hood of Paulie's car.

"Get him outta here!" Aro orders, grabbing the nearby gun with his free hand. He stands up, aiming both pistols. "Now!"

I crouch down and hustle to where Al's standing over the guy, going to town. "Come on, let's go." He gets one more shot in the ribs. "Enough!" Practically dragging him to a nearby alley, I pull him behind a few empty garbage cans. "You all right?"

Breathing hard, he nods. "Yeah."

We stay put until we don't hear any more shots being fired. "Now listen to me. If the cops ask you what you saw, you tell 'em _nothin'_. You say you heard a commotion and I pulled you into the alley until it was safe to come out. You hear me?" I point to my ear. "Repeat after me. He never left my side."

"He never left my side."

"And what did you see, kid?"

He swallows and shakes his head. "I didn't see nothin', mister."

I peek out around the corner to see smoke and flames coming from the windows of the barbershop. Two cars peel out, while the one in the middle with the blood spattered across the windshield doesn't move. Aro's standing in front of Emmett who's huddled over Sammy in the middle of the street.

"Fuck!" I turn back to Al. "Stay here and remember what I said, all right?"

"You got my word, mister." He crosses his heart. "I ain't no snitch."

I yank his cap down over his eyes. "Thanks, kid."

Gun drawn, I run over to where Em's holding his hands over Sammy's chest, trying to stop the bleeding. "Who's still inside?"

"Felix," he practically snarls as he glares up at me, barely able to contain his rage. "And Paulie."

"Maybe they got out the back," I hedge, even though I can plainly see the flames licking up the side of the building, making an escape unlikely.

His eyes move back to Sammy "Maybe."

"Where's Lou?"

"He, uh, juh," Em stumbles over his words, "jumped in his car to follow the bastards."

Smoke is billowing out of the windows and I hear sirens in the distance. Aro turns and dips his head towards the fella on the sidewalk that Al put the beating on. "If that one's still breathin', I'm gonna toss him in my trunk and get a few answers outta him."

"All right."

He looks at Em. "Come on, we've gotta get you outta here."

"I can't leave him like this."

"Help's on the way." He pulls my cousin up and pushes him towards his car. "And so is the fuzz, let's go."

"I've got him." Bending down, I put my hands on Sammy's chest where Em's were to stop the bleeding. "Stay with me, Sammy, all right?" He draws a ragged breath and his blood soaks everything it touches. "It's gonna be all right, okay? You're gonna be fine."

I glance up to see Aro practically dragging Emmett to his car. By the time I look down, I can tell by his unmoving chest and vacant stare that Sammy's not with us anymore. _Fuck._ Wiping my hands off on my shirt, I gently close his eyes and say a quick prayer for the dead.

" _Ed."_

My head snaps up at the sound of my name and _o_ ut of the corner of my eye, I see Felix crawling out of the barbershop with someone on his back. " _Shit_."

He makes it a couple feet out of the building before collapsing to the sidewalk, coughing up a lung.

"Felix!" I rush over to help him out just as the person on his back rolls to the ground, covering the side of his face with his hands and screaming in pain. I recognize the voice. "Paulie?"

"Don't touch it." Felix pulls Paulie's hands away from his face to reveal bright white blistered skin where his pock marks used to be.

I nod to Felix. "Get out of here."

He shakes his head.

"I mean it. Get the crews. You guys handle what we talked about earlier. However you see fit, just let me know when it's done."

Coughing, he agrees and staggers to his car. I kneel down to look at Paulie. "I'm gonna get you to the hospital, just stay calm, all right?"

"I saw him," Paulie whispers, gripping my forearm. "I fuckin' saw him. He threw the cocktail that started the fire."

"Who?"

Digging his fingers into my skin, he rasps out a name I should've been able to guess, "Mikey."

"Hey mister!" The kid comes runnin' up to where I'm hunched over, waving his baseball glove. "Mister!"

"Get outta here."

"Cops'll be here any minute," he opens his glove and places it on the ground beside me, "put your gun in there, and I'll get it out of here for you."

 _Smart kid_. I slip my piece in the mitt and he closes it. "What'd you see, kid?"

"Not a thing. You hid with me in the alley and didn't leave my side until you ran out to try and help these two." He motions towards Paulie and Sammy. "Isn't that right, mister?"

"That's right." I nudge the glove back to him with my knee. "I want that back. Make sure no one gets it."

Nodding, he backs away.

* * *

The next several hours fly by in a blur. The fire trucks show up first and have to radio the police and the ambulance. That's 'cause people in this neighborhood know better than to call the cops on us. When an officer approaches to get my statement, I keep it simple and give them the song and dance about hearing the gunfire and grabbing the kid to keep him safe.

"Stopped in to see if I can get a shave and a haircut."

The officer quirks a brow, but doesn't look up from his notepad. "No appointment?"

"Nah. Thought I'd try my luck." I pat my pockets for my smokes. "Anyway, just as I was going to call my wife, I heard the screeching tires and the bullets started flying. I didn't see any of it because I was ducking down behind that Buick over there. Then I saw a kid on the sidewalk."

"A kid?"

I nod and point to Al who's talking to a couple of cops across the street. "That's him over there. He was just standin' there, and I … I don't know, I don't think I could live with myself if he got hurt, so I grabbed him and pulled him into the alley."

"Which alley?"

"That one." I jerk my chin to the alley next to my car. "We hid behind a few trashcans."

He scribbles down a few more notes. "And you didn't see anything?"

"No."

"Do you know what started the altercation?"

"No."

"Did you see anyone start the fire?"

I shake my head. "No, sir. I only came out once the gunfire stopped. By then we heard the sirens so I figured it was safe."

"Do you know any of the deceased?"

Pointing to Sammy's now covered body, I nod. "That's Sammy Uley. He works over at the cement plant down on California Avenue. He's a regular here at the shop."

He motions to the guy who nearly killed me in the telephone booth. "What about the other one?"

"Never seen him in my life." _But I'm glad he's dead._

After copying down my name and number, they cut me loose to head over to the hospital in the ambulance with Paulie. He lies stock-still and repeatedly tells the guy working on him that he's not in any pain.

"You want me to call Marie?" I ask him when they shut the ambulance doors.

He closes his eyes real slow and takes a deep breath. "If you want."

"Whaddya mean, if I want? That's your wife."

"I know, it's just," he swallows, "she might not come, you know?"

"She'll come." I wave my hand at him. "She ain't _that_ big of a ball-breaker."

The unburned side of his mouth lifts into a smirk, but I see the slightest shake of his head. "I don't know. If she does come she might try to set me on fire again."

"Get outta here with that!"

* * *

The docs rush Paulie back and I call Marie. That woman's got a mouth on her that makes my mother's look tame. She curses for three minutes straight then blubbers uncontrollably before agreeing to come to the hospital.

About an hour later, Em and Aro walk in, flanked by a few guys from Paulie's crew.

"How is he?" Emmett asks, pulling his hat off.

"I haven't heard anything yet." I jerk my chin at him. "Where've you been?"

"We need to talk."

I glance at the other fellas in the room. "With an audience?"

Em catches my drift. "Chapel."

* * *

"That kid must've put some beatin' on him. He's breathin', but he's still out cold." Emmett hands me the guy's wallet. "Chopper's got him holed up in the basement of his butcher shop."

"Peter Randall. Wolcott Avenue." I hold up the identification card from the wallet Aro took off him and read it. "I wonder if Mr. Randall has any family at home. May be good to know just in case he's not feelin' talkative when he wakes up."

Nodding, Em rubs his jaw. "Sounds like a plan, but Ed, I ain't kiddin' around. That kid might've scrabbled that prick's eggs but good."

"I'm glad he did." I take a seat in the last pew and spread my arms wide. "So Felix is headin' over to the bowling alley tonight to take care of what we talked about yesterday."

"Good."

"But uh," I drum my fingers on the back of the pew, "there was a new development."

"And what's that?"

"Paulie saw who set the fire in the barbershop."

"Do we know him?"

"Yeah, we know him. It was Mikey."

Tipping his head back, my cousin punches into the crown of his hat. "I knew it. I knew I should've spoken up when my old man gave him that pass."

"He gave him that pass in front of everyone, Em. To call it into question would've put your father in a bad spot. Had he done it in private …" I shrug. "I don't know, maybe you could've had your say."

"I've actually already had _my_ say."

"What do you mean?"

Em sits down beside me, placing his hat on his knee. "After Chopper and I dropped our little friend off in the butcher shop basement, we went to see my old man."

"Did you tell him about Philly?"

"Yeah."

"Did he believe you?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask him, because truthfully, _I don't care."_

"What'd you tell him?"

"Everything. All the hits. The attempts on his life. Hell, even back to your old man getting clipped. All signs pointed to Philly."

"Did you tell him about what happened at the hospital?"

Nodding, my cousin stares straight ahead. "I did."

"How does he want you to proceed?"

"I don't know." Em leans back in the pew, mimicking my position. "I didn't ask him." Turning his head, my cousin faces me, expressionless. "I didn't go there to get permission to handle it. I _told_ him it's being handled."

 _Looks like someone found his balls._

"I'm impressed." I nudge him with my elbow. "Was he awake when you said all this to him?"

Em grins. "Yeah. He was tired, but awake. As a matter of fact, he made me promise him somethin' before I left."

"What was that?"

"He wants to be there when Philly gets his."

"That sounds fair. Does he want to do the honors?"

"Actually no." His face goes serious again. "He wants you to."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." He slips his hat back on his head and stands. "And I agree. Now let's go handle our little friend in the basement."

* * *

An hour and a half, three beef sandwiches and a peek inside the windows of a small bungalow on Wolcott later, Aro leads us in through the back door of his butcher shop. The place is dead silent except for the hum of the glass-enclosed display case.

"You think Sleeping Beauty's awake yet?" Em asks while Aro flips on a light.

"Maybe."

Flicking the glass case, Em eyes the meat selections. "You got any more of those T-bones Rose made me last week?"

"Sure thing." Aro hangs his jacket and rolls up his sleeves before slipping a rubber apron over his head. "Got a nice special on bacon too if you want."

Practically licking his chops, my cousin smiles wide. "Gimme two pounds of it."

Aro points at me. "Ed?"

"Yeah, sure." I point towards the door to the basement. "I'm gonna go check on our guest."

The stairs creak beneath my feet with each step I take. Swollen, bloodied, and bound, the wise guy lifts his head to look at who's coming for him.

"Remember me, Peter?"

He grumbles something under his breath and goes back to staring at his feet.

"What was that?" I cup my ear. "I didn't hear you."

He mutters something else, only this time I distinctly hear the words _fuck yourself_.

I grab the hair just above the lump on his forehead and yank it back, forcing him to look at me. "What was that?"

Wincing, his words come out in a whine. "I said I don't know you."

"You don't know me?" With a chuckle, I reach into my pocket and pull out his identification card to show him. "Well it's a good thing that I know all about _you_ then _."_

His eyes widen as he inhales sharply.

"I know all about your little brick bungalow on Wolcott." I smile. "And I know all about your little blonde wife."

He struggles against his restraints.

"She made a meatloaf tonight. Smelled delicious." Releasing his hair, I circle him. "Your son was chasing his sister around, bein' a real prick." I flick him on his lump. "Must take after his old man."

Shaking his head furiously, he thrashes around trying to free himself.

"What's wrong, Peter?"

"That ain't allowed," he grits out from behind clenched teeth.

"Women and children," I rub my jaw, "yeah, you're right. Code of Honor and all that."

He visibly relaxes at my words.

"Here's the thing, Pete. You had your gun pointed at me today, behind my back. Where's the honor in that, huh?"

"I was following orders."

"Whose orders?"

He looks away.

"Whose orders?" I repeat louder. "Was it Philly or Mikey?"

A few minutes pass and not a word is spoken.

"Hey Chopper," I call up the stairs, "bring me an egg timer."

Aro's footsteps are heavy as he makes his way down, looking every bit of the murderer he is with his rubber gloves and apron. "Here you go."

I hold it up. "See this, Petey?" I wind it. "You get one hour to tell my friend Chopper here who gave you the order and where we can find him, you understand?"

"I'm dead either way, aren't I?"

"Pretty much."

He cocks his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean against the stair post. "Well it could go a lot of ways." I shrug. "You could tell me what I need to know and I'll make sure it's as quick and painless as possible. Or … you could clam up and refuse to tell us anything."

"And what? You'll torture me until I talk?"

Sliding my hands in my pockets, I step forward to circle him again. "Nah. I've got a weak stomach when it comes to that kind of thing." I scratch my temple. "So instead, I'd leave you here and drive over to your place on Wolcott. Given how miserable your wife looked, it'd take nothin' more than a smile and a little charm for her to let me in and before you know it, she'll be offerin' me a coffee with my dessert."

Fists clenched, he tries to maneuver out of the restraints again.

"It'd get late and we'd worry about where you are, Petey. I'd have to load her and the kids in the car, drive around to find you."

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shakes his head.

"And what do you know; you'd be right here where I left you all along."

"Don't …"

 _I'd never do that._

Clutching his hair, I snap his head back. "Then _don't_ make me."

Em jogs down the stairs with a couple of bags of meat. "He singin' or what?"

"Not yet. He's got fifty-seven minutes, though." I clap Aro on the back as I pass him.

"Call me when this prick wises up."

* * *

"I'm parked right there." I point to my car beneath the streetlight. "Thanks for the ride, man."

"Pick me up tomorrow around ten. We'll head over to the hospital to see Paulie and meet with the other capos."

"All right."

With my bag of bacon in hand, I watch him drive off before turning to unlock my car.

"Psst. Up here!" Al whisper-yells, frantically waving from a second story window. "Hey Mister, don't go."

"Sshhh! What're you –"

He holds up a finger. "Hold on a second, I'm comin' down."

Not even a minute later, the kid sprints down his stoop in his pajamas with his baseball glove in hand.

"Here ya go, Mister."

Looking around, I grab my piece out of his mitt and slip it in my pants. "What're you doin' down here? Your parents are gonna flip."

"No they won't." He lifts his shoulders to his ears. "My Gram's asleep and my ma works nights down at Nabisco."

"What about your old man?"

"He ain't around no more."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was rotten to us anyway." His little jaw tightens as he crosses his arms. "I was glad when he left."

"Well then it's a shame he's never gonna know what a good kid you turned out to be."

"Yeah, right."

"I'm serious, Al." I point to my car. "Because of you, I get to go home to my sweetheart."

"It wasn't a big—"

"No. It _was_. You puttin' that beatin' on that guy is one of the only reasons I'm standin' here right now. And it's one of the only reasons that I'm …" I trail off and let the pride swell up in my chest at the thought.

"That you're what?"

I smile. "I'm gonna get to meet my own kid someday."

"That's swell, Mister. Real swell."

"Tell you what, Al. Tomorrow, I'm gonna have a nice color television set delivered to your door as a thank you for all you've done."

He looks away. "We can't afford it."

"I'm gonna buy it."

"The electricity, I mean. We can barely keep the lights on as it is."

"Well what do you need then? A new bike? Clothes? Some spending money?"

"A _job_."

"What?"

"My mom's workin' two jobs to keep us fed. My Gram's old and sick." He thumbs his chest. "I'm the man of the house and it's time for me to start providin' for my family."

I want to ask him if he's kidding, but I can tell by his expression that he's dead serious. My eyes scan down and I see his pajamas are about two sizes too small and full of holes. Maybe he could help out around the barbershop when it reopens, sweeping up hair or whatever. Or maybe he can help Lou out stocking the bar at the Orchid.

"All right, kid" I put out my hand to shake. "You've got yourself a job."

* * *

"Edward?" Bitsy's voice sounds from the bedroom as I'm softly shutting the front door behind me.

"It's me." I turn the lock and double check that it's tight. "Go back to sleep."

Her footsteps pad up the hall and I don't want to turn around, knowing that she's going to see the blood on my clothes.

"I wasn't sleeping."

"You should go back to bed, Bits."

She wraps her arms around me from behind. "Can't sleep."

"Go try."

"What's wrong?" She lets me go and tugs on my arm to turn me around. Her eyes go wide at the sight of the blood before darting to mine. "What happened?"

I sigh.

"Nevermind." She grabs the bag out of my hand. "Take off your clothes and put them in the wastebasket. There's some hydrogen peroxide under the sink." Slipping her fingers around my wrist, she leads me back. "You can use it to clean the blood from your nails with the brush while I start your shower."

I stay under the hot spray until the water goes cold. When I step back into the bedroom, my wife is waiting for me with a glass of scotch and my paper.

"You're too good to me, Bits."

"Yeah, well … looked like you had a rough day."

I plop down on the bed and place my hands on her hips, pulling her close to me so I can kiss her stomach. "How was your day?"

"Boring," she says with a sigh. "Your mom came over here and made me put my feet up while she cleaned everything that didn't need cleaning."

I smirk. "Sounds like her."

She runs her fingers through my damp hair. "What happened today?"

"It wasn't good."

"I figured."

She lets me lift her shirt so I can ghost my fingers over the soft skin around her belly button as I tell her everything. All of it. The gun at my neck. Watching Sammy's eyes go dark. Paulie's face. Mikey's involvement. The fatherless kid who made sure I got to come home to her. The father in Aro's basement who'll never go home to his kids.

"Edward," she murmurs, tracing her fingertip from my temple down my jaw then beneath my chin where she tips it up so I can meet her gaze. Her eyes are intense but there's a hint of a smile on her face. "It's time for the Neris to go."

"I'll handle it, Bits."

Her eyes don't leave mine when she leans down to whisper against my lips. " _Kill them all_."

They're the exact words my mother screamed the night my father died, yet somehow they sound more deadly when spoken softly by my wife.

"I will."

Moments later, the phone rings and I hop up to grab it. "Hello?"

"It's me." Aro's voice cracks a bit on the line. "Our friend wised up."

"And?"

"He gave me an address."

"For both of them?"

"Just one. The handsome one."

 _Damn_. "All right."

"Want me to take care of it?"

"No. Just bring him back to your place." I glance at Bits. "I'll come by tomorrow and make sure it's handled from there."

* * *

 **A/N: Almost done – wrapping this fic up soon.**

 **Saw a rec for this fic and I'm so glad I checked it out – definitely one you should be WIPing.**

 **The Masked Prince by Wonwordful -** **"Steal a beauty's soul, present it to me in a glass jar, and I'll think about letting you rule the Twilight kingdoms."**

 **Care and I loved hearing the other canon couples you guys would like to see more of from Stephenie Meyer. I'm a Rose and Em girl, but I'm so curious about Marcus and Didyme's story of love and loss.**

 **This week we were chatting about how we found the Twilight fandom. I found it through a website called Letters to Rob (if you haven't read their letters to him – you MUST – those girls are funnier than hell) and Care found it by googling Midnight Sun. When Twilighted popped up in her browser, she thought she hit the lottery. Tell us, pals – how'd you find your way to the Twilight fandom?**

 **See you guys Thursday! Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, or lurked this fic!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **Thursday, March 15, 1956  
** **12:21 AM**

"The boys at Stationhouse 18 said the barbershop fire was started by a poor man's grenade." Slick slaps a picture of the fire damage from Paulie's shop on the table. "You know anything about that, Mr. Cullen?"

"Can't say I do."

He slips another photo of a burnt out building in front of me. "What about the fire started the same way just six hours later at a bowling alley in McKinley Park?"

"Can't help with that either."

Tapping the picture, he stands. "There were eleven men in there that died."

"That's a shame, but I still can't help you."

"What do you know about his guy?" Glasses cuts in just as Slick's about to open his mouth, waving a picture of Handsome Mike before placing it on the table. "You seen him around lately?"

Shaking my head slow, I slide the picture back to the detective and try to hide my grin. "Can't say I have."

* * *

 **October 6, 1955**

"Good morning." My wife smiles over her shoulder then turns back to tend to the bacon sizzling on the stove. "Two eggs okay?"

"Perfect." I dip down to peck her cheek. "Is there coffee?"

"Already in your cup on the table along with your paper."

The big, bold headline splashed across the Sun Times front page pops out at me as I smooth a hand down my tie and take my seat. _Fires Rage Throughout the City_. The picture of firefighters surrounding a burning building is equally eye catching. I glance back at my wife who's plating my meal. "Smells great, Bits."

She slips a finger under her nose. "It's making me queasy."

"The eggs?"

Shaking her head, she sets the plate in front of me. "The bacon."

I pick up a slice and sniff it. "Smells fine to me." I take a bite and chew it slowly as she sits down beside me and props her chin on her hand. "Tastes fine too."

"Must just be me."

"Not a fan of swine products these days?"

"Not to eat, but I admit I'm little impressed with pigs in general."

"Why's that?"

"One of the girls I went to nursing school with was the daughter of a farmer from southern Illinois. She'd always tell us stories about life on the farm."

"Milkin' cows?"

"All of it. Birthing animals and putting them down." She winks. "Snapping chicken necks for Sunday dinner."

I make a face.

"What can I say? She was a hillbilly. Anyway, one day in class we were talking about the digestive system and little Leah decides to tell us about one of her daddy's farmhands losing a part of his foot after getting stuck in the hog pen one day."

"Lost his foot?"

"Part of it."

"How?"

"Pigs can digest anything they chew."

"Get outta here."

She lifts her shoulder in a shrug and drums her fingers on the table. "Ask Aro."

I stare at the slice in my hand. "I don't want to know _that_ bad."

"I'm telling yo—"

Her words are cut off by the sound of the doorbell. I check my watch. "He's early."

"Who?"

"Felix."

"It's not Felix," she mutters, standing and rushing to straighten the counter.

A split-second later I hear the lock on my front door click and my mother's voice boom through the house. "Aro, set the vacuum down over there and then you can go."

"Here?" he asks.

"Yes. That way I can start in the living room and work my way back through the house."

Bits and I exchange a look and I mouth the words _I'm sorry_ to her.

"There you are." My mother waltzes into the kitchen like she owns the joint. "Why are you cleanin'? You should be restin' with your feet up." She kisses Bitsy on the cheek and tips her chin up to look over her. "You look tired. Did you sleep?"

My wife gives her a tight smile. "I slept well."

"Ma, c'mon."

Hand on her hip, my mother gets loud. " _What_?"

"She doesn't look tired, she looks beautiful."

"Well, of course, she does. I'm just sayin' she needs her rest. Here," she holds up a white bag from Aro's butcher shop and drops it on the counter, "it's a pound of liver so she can keep her iron up. I have tons of recipes."

Bits pales at the sound of the meat hitting the Formica.

"I'll do that later though. You two just go back to enjoying your breakfast, and I'll be in the living room vacuuming your upholstery."

We watch her slip her coat off her shoulders and disappear into the dining room.

"You want me to get you a housekeeper?"

Her tight-lipped smile relaxes."Do you think it'd stop her?"

"Eh." I wipe my mouth with my napkin. "Probably not. Do you want me to talk to her?"

"No."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"

"She means well." Bits steps closer and combs her fingers through my hair. "It's how she shows her love."

I pull her into my lap. "Wanna see how I show my love?"

"Mmm." Her hand slips down to her stomach. "I've already got a nice little reminder here."

"True." I give her a smooch on the lips. "How about dinner tonight? Just me and you."

"Will liver be on the menu?"

"Nope."

"Sounds perfect."

"I'll be home around six. You pick the spot, all right?"

"Will you have time with," she checks over her shoulder before turning back to me, "everything you have going on?"

"I'll make time."

Her voice lowers. "It'll be over after today?"

"If everything goes as planned."

"Is there a plan?"

"The first one will be quick," I say with a nod, picking up my coffee cup and bringing it to my lips. "But the second one …"

Pulling her teeth over her bottom lip, her eyes bore into mine. "You should take your time with that one."

"I intend to."

The doorbell rings and my mother's vacuum stops. I hear Felix and Aro greet each other and my mother telling them both to stay off the rug.

I toss my napkin on the table. "I gotta go, Bits."

Touching my face softly, she tilts her head. "Go make me proud."

* * *

"Well?" Paulie asks from his hospital bed, still sounding a little raspy from all the smoke.

Em softly shuts the door behind him. "Well what?"

Paulie widens the arm not covered in bandages. "What's the word from the bird?"

"Chopper picked up our handsome friend earlier this mornin' at some roach motel on Kedzie."

Drawing a deep breath, Paulie coughs as he sits up and pulls the covers off. "Let's go."

"Hey, uh, not for nothin', but," Felix gestures towards his arm and face, "you're more than a little banged up already."

"Nice try, fucker." Paulie's feet hit the floor and he slowly stands. "You got to have all the fun last night at the bowlin' alley."

Felix grins. "True."

"Gimme my due."

Em steps forward, rubbing his jaw just as a nurse walks in.

"Mr. Pagano," she scolds, waving a clipboard in his direction. "Get back in bed this instant."

"Can it, lady. I'm springin' myself."

"But your burns –"

"Ed, let me have your coat."

"What?" I ask, as he snaps his fingers at me, motioning for me to hurry up. "Why?"

He turns around and flashes his ass-crack through the opening in his gown. "You wanna enjoy the view?"

The nurse's eyes go big, making the undamaged side of Paulie's face stretch into a smarmy smile. "I _know_ you like the view, Sugar Tits."

I pull off my coat and carefully drape the trench over his shoulders. He winces slightly at the tenderness as the material touches the bandages on his arms and neck.

"Mr. Pagano, please, you're putting yourself at risk for—"

"Yeah, yeah." He shuffles to the door. "Just send me a bill."

* * *

"Where are Paulie and Felix?" Em asks Aro as we step into the butcher shop.

"They'll be back in a few. Paulie wanted to run to a buddy's garage to get a tool for the job." Aro ties up the front of his rubber apron. "Flip the sign on the door, would you, Ed?"

I turn the hanging sign from open to closed and lock the door behind me. "Was anyone with Mikey when you nabbed him?"

"One guy was guardin' the door. I stuck him in the dumpster behind that shithole he was stayin' at. Mikey was alone in the room," Aro folds his arms over his chest, "but he didn't wanna go quietly so I might've given him a few smacks."

Em raises a skeptical brow. "A few smacks, huh?"

Grinning, Aro points to his temple. "You know, now that I think about it, I might've bopped him on the head a few times too."

"But you're sure he was alone?" I ask again and Aro nods. "Good. That means he won't be able to warn his old man."

" _If_ he gives him up," Em hedges.

"He will." I pull my hat off and set it on the counter. "Lemme take a crack at him first."

Em smirks. "Save some for the rest of us."

I see him as I make my way down the stairs. Slumped in his chair with his arms and chest bound, his pillowcase-covered head moves in the direction of my footsteps. I drag a chair in front of him and take a seat before pulling the cover from his head.

Squinting at the light, a deep V forms on his forehead when he sees me sitting across from him. " _You_?"

"You were expecting someone else?"

He visibly relaxes. "I was."

I pull out my smokes and pluck one from the pack, slipping it between my lips. "Who? Emmett or Carlisle?"

"One of those two, yeah."

 _Smug little prick_. "Nah." I light up and inhale deeply before exhaling out the side of my mouth. "You're not _that_ important, kid."

His eyes move down to the sleeves of his pajamas where he's tied to the arms of the chair then back up to me. "So they sent you to finish me off?"

"Nope. That's not my department. I just need some answers."

"I'm not tellin' you shit."

"You've got two options, Mikey." Standing, I take another long drag and circle him."One. You tell me what I want to know. I'll go my merry way and you'll go yours." His head snaps up and I cross my heart. "Hand to God, I won't lay a finger on you. Two. You choose to keep quiet; I bring Chopper down here to sever body parts of his choice until you _feel_ like answerin' my questions." I lean down to speak directly in his ear. "And you heard that right, I said _parts._ "

"He talkin' yet, Eddie?" Em yells from the top of the steps, and Mikey pales.

"Not yet."

Em charges down the stairs, rolling up his sleeves. "He need some encouragement?"

"Maybe." I cock my head to the side. "Should I go tell Chopper to start sharpenin' his cleaver?"

Grabbing Mikey's hair, Em yanks his head back to get a look at him. "What're you stupid or somethin'?"

Terrified, his voice shakes as he stutters, "I-I can't."

Em barks out a laugh and glances at me. "Is he cryin'?"

I shrug.

"Are you cryin'?" He jerks Mikey's head back further. "Holy shit, he's cryin'. Hey Chopper, you got any tissues up there for Mikey?"

"Pussy," I mutter, letting my cigarette dangle from my lips.

Em takes my seat , propping his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. "So?"

"I can't." Sniveling, Mikey focuses on the floor. "I won't. I'm not gonna sell my old man up the river."

"Oh you're a tough guy now, huh?" Em chuckles. "Well, how 'bout this tough guy? How 'bout we throw you in the car tonight and take you over to your mother's house?"

Mikey shakes his head, but doesn't look up.

"Maybe we'll set it on fire," he lowers his voice, "while she sleeps. How 'bout that tough guy? You ready to watch that?"

More tears leak from Mikey's eyes. "She's off—"

"Fuck you!" Em gets in his face, taking a hold of his collar and slamming his back against the chair. "You know who else was off-limits? My old man!" He points to me. "His old man!"

Em's hands move from Mikey's collar to his neck, squeezing so hard his eyes bulge.

I clear my throat and nudge my cousin's shoulder, gesturing for him to cool it. He releases him with a huff and goes back to his seat while I try to reason with this prick.

"Loyalty never meant shit to your old man and you know that. Where was his loyalty to _you_ , huh? Before you started takin' orders from him, you had yourself a sweet little set-up on the row. Money comin' in. Power. Respect. Now look at you, tied up in a fuckin' basement in your night clothes about ready to piss yourself and cryin' like a goddamn little girl."

Turning his face away, he stares at the wall. "I won't do it."

Standing so fast, Em's chair clatters to the ground as he pulls his gun and places it on Mikey's temple. "No more fuckin' around. You get to the count of three. One."

"Jesus Christ." Mikey's words come out in a sob.

"Two!"

"No, please!"

He cocks the hammer. "Thre—"

"Okay! All right!" Screaming now, Mikey scrunches his eyes tight. "I'll tell you!"

Lowering his gun, Em steps back and motions for me to proceed.

"Where is he?"

"You swear you'll let me go."

"Like I said," I hold my hand up again, "I'll go my way, you'll go yours and I won't lay a finger on you."

He jerks his chin at Em. "What about him?"

Smirking, I glance at Em who's still gripping the gun tightly at his side. "He won't lay a finger on you either."

Mikey swallows. "Blue Island."

"Where in Blue Island?"

"I don't know the address."

"You fuck," Em spits, pointing the gun between his eyes.

"It's beside the old clay quarry!" Mikey's voice shakes. "White house, green shutters. It's the only one out there in the middle of nowhere."

I step forward, pushing my jacket from my hips and shoving my hands in my pants pockets. "Is he alone?"

"He's got some guys with him."

"How many?" Em asks, pressing the gun harder against his skin.

"F-five. Maybe six."

Pulling the gun back, Em walks over to the staircase and stomps twice on the first step. "Sounds like we've got what we need then."

"See ya' around, Mikey," I say over my shoulder while heading toward the stairs.

"Wait," he calls and when I look back at him he wiggles against his restraints. "You forgettin' somethin'?"

I shake my head, but Em answers as he slips his gun back in his pants. "Yeah, there was one more thing."

The confusion on Mikey's face morphs into terror when my cousin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife. I turn my head not wanting to see what's to come. Instead I hear the telltale flick of my cousin's switchblade followed immediately by Mikey's pained cries echoing off the cinder block walls.

"You got a handkerchief on you?" Em asks over Mikey's wailing.

I pull one out of my breast pocket and hand it to him without looking back. "Here you go."

"Thanks."

When he hands it back, it's wet and bloody and there's something soft inside of it. I know I shouldn't look, but I do anyway. A bright blue eyeball stares back at me. Just as I'm about to lay into my cousin, I hear footsteps sound from the stairs.

Stepping beside me, Em dips his chin to Mikey's eye in my hand. "I want you to show that to his old man before you kill him."

Paulie chuckles when he reaches the bottom step. No longer dressed in his hospital gown, he's wearing welding gear and a sinister smile. "An eye for an eye will make the world go blind." Stalking closer, he towers over Mikey and raises the blow torch in his hand. "I'd rather watch it burn."

The sounds of the flame and Mikey's piercing screams follow me up the staircase. He's not dead yet, but one thing's for sure.

Handsome Mike ain't handsome no more.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Mikey's dead and we're all standing around the meat counter plotting our next move.

"Chopper and Felix, I want you two to head out to Blue Island tonight," Em instructs, pointing a bag full of pork chops at them. "Take about twelve guys with you. A few of the fellas from the forty-two gang and the rest from the crews. Send the forty-two boys in first just in case you draw fire."

Aro wraps butcher paper around some brisket. "But you want Philly alive?" He looks from Em to me and I nod. "Where should we bring him?"

"Take him to the Yards."

"Slaughterhouse or feedlot?"

Em glances at me to make the call. I'm just about to say slaughterhouse, which is where I clipped the guy who pulled the trigger on my old man, but then I see the diagram on the wall with all the different pork cuts and decide on a more fitting setting. "Bring him to the feedlot."

We nail down the specifics and the fellas file out of the shop one by one. Just as I go to close the door behind me, I catch a glimpse of the pig illustration again, reminding me of Bitsy's little story about her hillbilly friend from the farm.

Washing his hands, Aro glances over his shoulder. "You need somethin' else, Ed?"

"Yeah," I step back inside, "I was curious about somethin' Bits said to me this mornin' …"

* * *

At six o'clock on the dot I walk through the front door. To my surprise, the table is set and the house smells like my mother's baked ziti. "Bitsy?"

She pops out from behind the kitchen door with a smile on her face and my scotch in her hand. "Hi."

Palming her backside, I lean down to give her a smooch. "I thought we were goin' out tonight."

She runs a finger down my tie. "I felt like maybe you needed a relaxing night in so I asked your mom to teach me how to make her baked ziti. But we can go out if you'd like. I'll just put it in the refrigerator."

I take off my hat. "Actually a night in sounds great."

"Swell." She grins and hands me my scotch. "Go ahead and have a seat, it'll be ready in a minute."

Hanging my hat and coat, I notice a shitload of shopping bags on the floor of the hall closet. "You go out shoppin' today, Bits?"

"No." She pushes through the kitchen door to the dining room with the casserole dish. "My mother did and came by to drop them off."

I thumb through the bags of fabric then grab a few of the Butterick sewing patterns. Each of the models shown are with child and it makes me wonder what Bella will look like in these tent-like dresses. "These look nice."

My wife's lips twist to the side. "If you say so."

"They'll look gorgeous on you."

"Ha!" She cuts into the baked ziti. "I'll be as tall as I am wide."

"Nah." I pull out my chair and kiss her cheek. "You'll _still_ be a knock-out."

We go back and forth over our meal, bullshitting about our day with her telling me all the crazy advice my ma gave her about parenting, and me, advising that one of our problems isn't a problem any longer and the other will be handled after dessert. I notice she goes quiet at the news about the Neris as she pushes her ziti around her plate, tipping her head back and forth as if she's contemplating something.

"Penny for your thoughts."

She glances up, startled. "Hmm?"

"What's on your mind, Bits?"

"Oh. No." Shaking her head, she sets her fork down. "It's nothing."

"Now I'm curious." I set my fork down as well and drape my arm over the back of my chair. "Let's hear it."

"Well …" She fiddles with her napkin her lap. "I've been thinking about something you said the other night. About how when you … _handle_ these kinds of things, you feel _nothing_."

My eyebrows scrunch together. _Odd_. "And?"

"At first it struck me as a bit unusual."

"Like there's somethin' wrong with me?"

"Of course not. On the contrary, I think it's a bit of a blessing being able to separate yourself from the act."

"What're you getting' at here, Bits?"

Rising from her seat, she approaches me slowly. "I don't think it's a matter of you not feeling anything." She brushes her fingertips over my temple and into my hair. "I think it's a matter of you not _allowing_ yourself to feel anything."

"And?"

" _And_ … given that the one you're … _handling_ tonight is the one who set every single event in your life for the past six years in motion, I think it's important that you allow yourself to feel _everything_."

It's true that had Philly not given the order to clip my old man, I might've been living a completely different life. There'd have been no Havana and no learning the ropes from Momo. No killing. No corruption.

But most importantly, there'd be no Bits.

"What do you mean by that? _Feel everything_?"

Lowering herself onto my lap, my wife holds my face in her hands. "This will be a moment you'll look back on for the rest of your life. If you do it too hastily, you'll always wish you drew it out. So what I'm saying, my love," her thumb ghosts across my cheek, "is that I want you to allow yourself to feel it. The anger. The rage. The vindication. The relief. I think you should savor that moment and revel in the satisfaction that only the end of him will bring."

"Savor it?"

I swear I see a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. " _Enjoy_ it."

"I plan to."

"Good. Because once this is done, you'll be able to focus."

Placing my hand over hers, I turn my face slightly to kiss her palm. "On what?"

"On asserting yourself in your position."

"Asserting myself?"

"Yes. Assert yourself as a leader."

"I'm just the consigliere, Bits. All I do is advise. I can tell 'em what I think all day long, but I'm never gonna call the shots."

"I respectfully disagree." She pecks my lips. " _Real_ power comes from influence." Her lips trail down my neck then back up again to my mouth. "Not authority."

"That may be true, but—"

"It _is_ true," she cuts me off. "And I _know_ you'll prove me right." Kissing me soft and slow, she presses her forehead to mine. "Because under _your_ influence, Edward Cullen …" She circles her hips slightly against my groin and runs her teeth over her bottom lip. "The Outfit will become a force more powerful than any city has ever seen."

"We already run _this_ town."

"I know," she trails her finger over my jaw, "but why stop there?"

 _Christ, I love this woman.  
_

* * *

Right around ten o'clock, I pull up to the Union Stockyards. Our lookout, Lou, is waiting for me at the gate, plugging his nose.

Rolling down my window, I cover my nose with my handkerchief even though it does nothing to prevent me from smelling the stench of cow patties and pig shit. "Where are they?"

"Take this road straight until you hit the tracks. They're by the pen across from stock car 1136."

"Got it."

When I arrive I see the old Chevrolet Panel Van Aro uses to pick-up his orders from the yards. He and Felix are standing beside it, having a smoke.

"He in there?" I ask, pointing at the van.

"Yeah," Felix answers, letting the smoke billow out of his mouth. "He might be out cold though." Jerking a thumb at Aro, he grins. "This one pistol whipped him pretty hard. To be fair though, Philly was gonna try and take the easy way out"

"Good." I reach for the door handle and yank it open only to see Philly hog-tied with a piece of tape over his mouth. Grabbing him by the ankle, I drag him out of the car, letting his body drop to the ground. "There you are, you fuckin' prick."

Philly's eyes widen and he frantically shakes his head, squirming on the gravel.

I grab him by his greasy jelly-rolled hair and drag him around the car so I can see him in the headlights. "Look at me!"

He cowers and his eyes dart around, looking for a way to escape.

I grip his hair tighter and grit my teeth. "I said look at me, you fuck!"

Squinting, he raises his head then looks to Felix and Aro who are now flanking me on either side. I tear the tape off his mouth and see him wince, but his wail is drowned out by the snorts of the hogs and cries coming from the slaughterhouse across the tracks.

"Do it!" he spits out between ragged breaths.

"I don't take orders from you."

He snorts. "You're weak. Just like your old man."

My hands are around his throat in an instant, pressing my thumbs against his windpipe. _It'd be so fucking easy_. His face shakes and his eyes bulge just like his son's, and even though it'd feel so fucking good to choke the life out of him, I release him and let him fall to the ground.

Gasping for breath, he tries his hardest to slither away again so I squat down and clutch his hair once more. "I ain't weak, Philly. And neither was my old man." I pull the bloodied handkerchief from my pocket. "You're here because _your_ kid was weak." I hold Mikey's eyeball in front of his father's face. "He sold you up the river."

The realization of what's in my hand causes Philly's jaw to drop and his beady eyes to water. I shove his son's eyeball in his mouth before reaching for the tape from the dirty ground and slapping it over his lips. Out of the corner of my eye, I see headlights coming.

"They're here," Felix says behind me.

I give Philly's cheek a smack. "Don't worry, Philly. You'll be seein' Mikey soon."

Em helps his father out of the car and hands him his cane. My uncle stands, slipping his hat on his head and tilting it like he always has.

"What'd we miss?" Em asks before lighting up a cigarette.

"Not much."

"Did you give him my present?"

"It's in his mouth."

Smoke comes out his nose as he laughs.

"Anyway." I grab my piece and wave it. "I'm ready to be done with this."

Everyone looks at each other, nodding in agreement that it's time for Philly to go. Uncle C seems unsure, but relents with a dip of his chin.

Aro reaches down and pulls Philly up to his knees in front of me. I place the muzzle right between his eyes and commit every part of this moment to memory. Everything from his muffled cries to his trembling chin to the piss stain forming on the leg of his pants.

I don't want to miss a thing.

I swallow as I pull down the hammer with my thumb, enjoying the way the sound makes him flinch as more tears spring from his eyes. _Bits was right_. I'll savor this moment for the rest of my life.

Taking a deep breath, I go to squeeze the trigger when I hear my uncle's rough voice echo all around me.

"STOP!"

* * *

 **A/N: One more chap to go.**

 **We loved hearing how you guys found the fandom. There was a Twilight marathon on recently which got us to thinking about the books and the movies. Tell us which of the Twilight Saga books and/or movies were your fave and why.**

 **Also, if you have any great fic recs, we'd love to hear them as well.**

 **See you guys Thursday! Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, or lurked this fic!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Rated M**

 **Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.  
** **Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM  
** **and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy  
** **for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.  
** **Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.  
**

* * *

 **October 6, 1955**

"STOP!"

Philly's shoulders sag with relief at my uncle's words. He tries to lower his head, but I gnash my teeth together and press the muzzle harder against his skin.

"Edward." Uncle C approaches me slowly, placing his hand on my forearm. "Not like this."

Everything in me wants to take the shot. All it'd take is one split-second and a quick squeeze of the trigger to end him.

"Please." My uncle's low voice sounds in my ear as his hand covers mine and lowers the gun. "Not like this." My eyes snap to his and I can't quite read his expression. "I'm sorry."

Bending down, he rips the tape off of Philly's mouth and watches him spit his son's eyeball onto the ground before gasping for air. He catches his breath a moment, peering up at my uncle gratefully. "Jesus Christ, thank you, C!"

Patting him on the shoulder, Uncle C nods. "Couldn't let you go out like that, old friend."

I glance back at Emmett, wondering if his old man is losing his marbles. He smirks and takes another drag of his smoke.

"We go way back, me and Philly," Uncle C continues, clapping him on the back. "Since grammar school, I think. Gettin' our hands smacked daily by Sister Mary Eunice."

Smiling now, Philly chuckles. "Chasin' skirts on the playground."

"That too," Uncle C says wistfully, gripping Philly's shoulder once more and looking at me. "You see, Edward, through thick and thin, this one's always been there for me. On my wedding day, he and your father stood by my side." He motions to Emmett. "The day Es gave birth to this one, he was right there."

"You too, kid." Philly jerks his chin at me. "I was there the day you were born too."

"Ya see? No matter what, he was always there. Through the good times ..." Clearing his throat, he stares down at Philly, no longer sounding wistful. "And the bad."

Philly's smile fades.

"Right by your father's side when he was gunned down in front of him."

Shaking his head, that fucking Judas tries to deny it.

"In my ear at his wake, pinnin' his death on some nobody." Sneering now, my uncle's voice goes cold. "Spoon-feedin' me bullshit for years, then sittin' back to watch me tear this city apart. Murderin' innocents in the name of vengeance for my brother's death."

"C, please —"

"For years, _old friend_ ," Uncle C snarls, wrapping his hand around Philly's throat, "you watched the grief over losin' my brother eat me alive! So no! A bullet between the eyes ain't enough."

Terror-stricken, Philly pleads for mercy and rasps out apologies that fall on deaf ears.

"It fuckin' _ate me alive_." Tossing his cane to the ground, Uncle C takes a hold of Philly's hair and chin, gripping it tight and turning it in the direction of the hog-pen. "So it's time for me to return the favor."

Blubbering now, Philly struggles again when my uncle lets him go.

"Strip him down," my uncle orders.

With a flick of his stiletto, Aro cuts through Philly's clothes, careful not to cut his bindings. He chucks his shoes and watch into a pile. "They'll be able to chew through the restraints, so we might wanna take some extra precautions in case he tries to escape."

"Such as?"

Shrugging, Aro flings Philly's belt by the rest of his belongings. "I don't know, maybe Felix can give him a Nicky "Whack-Crack" special."

We all burst into laughter. Nicky "Whack-Crack" is an enforcer out of Gage Park. He's a scary fucker we hire from time to time when we want someone maimed, not killed. Eye-witnesses, prosecutors, snitches. One visit from Nicky "Whack-Crack" and they aren't going to make it to court.

Grinning when Uncle C gives him the go-ahead, Felix grabs Philly by the ankle. I turn my head and cringe at the snapping sound.

"Jesus Christ." Em sucks his teeth, watching and wincing with each bone Felix breaks. "You gotta see this, Ed. Knees ain't suppose to go that way."

"I'll pass."

"Did you forget your Tums, Mary?"

I flip him the bird.

Minutes later, when Philly's ankles, knees, hands, and wrists are no longer functional and his screams become sobs, I turn back around.

Propping his weight on his cane, my uncle dips his chin in my direction. "Anything else you want to say to this piece of shit, Ed?"

I step forward and crouch down beside Philly's now mangled, naked body. Trembling and crying with his face pressed against the ground, his eyes are fixed on something behind me. I glance back and smirk at the dirty blue eyeball.

 _I almost forgot about that_.

With a chuckle, I place my hands on my knees and push myself up to stand. The urge to stomp on it is there, but instead I toe it lightly, enjoying the fact that his face is just as contorted in pain as the rest of his body. _Another moment I'll savor_. Pressing my foot down slowly, I snuff the eye out like I'm extinguishing a cigarette. His face screws up in anguish when he hears the last piece of his only son squelch between the sole of my shoe and the gravel. "Nah, I'm good, Uncle C."

"Well," my cousin claps his hands, "this is where I leave you, fellas."

The corners of my lips turn up. "Your tummy hurt, Susan?"

"Nah, nothin' like that." He flicks his smoke at Philly. "I've got a gorgeous wife who can't cook for shit. If I watch this, I'll probably starve to death because I won't be able to eat three of the five things she _can_ make."

"Get outta here, Doris," my uncle chimes in, waving him off then motioning to Felix and Aro. "Toss him in."

"No! No! Wait! Please!" Philly tries to thrash in their grip but can't. "Nooooo!"

They throw him in feet first and his screaming begins almost immediately as his body sinks lower and lower into the pen.

I watch his limp hand, the last visible body part disappear completely in the feeding frenzy. Closing my eyes, I do exactly what Bits said and allow myself to fully feel everything about this moment. I take it all in and commit it to memory; everything from the stench of pig-shit and death to the snorts and sounds of teeth tearing into flesh. But mostly, I revel in hearing his piercing shrieks echoing in the crisp, night air. _Those sounds are what I'm sure I'll savor most of all._

I stay until his screaming stops and the only noises to be heard are the chomping and gnawing of teeth through bone.

Uncle C clasps his hands on the handle of his cane in front of him. "He's gone."

"Yep."

"I'm sorry for stopping you, I just couldn't—"

"Don't worry 'bout it." I take one last look to the pen. "It's actually better this way."

"Oh yeah?" He sounds amused. "And why's that?"

"I'm the consigliere, Uncle C." I show him my palms and grin. "Gotta keep my hands clean."

* * *

 **Thursday, March 15, 1956  
** **12:27 AM**

"So, lemme get this straight," Slick says, standing up and scratching his temple. "You don't know what happened to Mikey?"

My brow furrows. " _Did_ somethin' happen to him?"

He lunges forward, grabbing the corners of the table and pushing it out of his way so he can get in my face. "You tell me, asshole."

I smirk. "I'm sorry, officer. I can't help you with that."

Slick goes for my collar, but Glasses intervenes and shoves him back towards his seat. "Cool it, Crowley!"

"Yeah. _Cool it_ , Slick."

"Enough Cullen," Glasses warns, reaching across the table for his folder. "What about this guy?" He pulls out a photo, and with just a glimpse of the beady eyes and smarmy smile, I know who he's asking about. "Your old pal, Philly Neri. You seen him around lately?"

"I haven't." I take the picture from him and stare at it, feigning concern. "His wife is beside herself about it."

"We know. She's in here every other day."

I cluck my tongue. "That's a shame."

"What's a shame?" Slick pipes up from his seat.

"That you two aren't better at your job."

Slick's off his ass with his dukes up in an instant, ready to rumble even as Glasses scrambles to hold him back. Two knocks sound from the door before it swings open and Mr. Banner, a longtime Cullen family attorney, steps inside.

"Gentlemen," he greets coolly, pushing up his specs as he takes in the scene.

Straightening up, Glasses looks sheepish while Slick struggles to calm himself.

"Were you attacking my client, detectives?"

"No sir," Glasses answers.

"Is Mr. Cullen being charged with anything?"

Glaring at me, Slick slips a hand into his pockets. "Not at the moment."

"Not at the moment?" Mr. Banner eyes the detectives skeptically. "Do you or don't you have sufficient evidence or reason to continue to hold my client?"

Glasses sighs. "I wish we did."

"That's that, then." I slap a hand on the table and stand. "I'm sure you both know how the old saying about wishes goes."

Glasses stares at me blankly.

"Wishes are for wells." Smoothing my hair back, I slide my hat on my head and doff it to the boys in blue. "It's been nice bullshittin' with ya, fellas."

Mr. Banner leads me out to the hallway where his associates are springing Emmett, Paulie, Felix, and Uncle C from their respective interrogation rooms. My cousin's wearing a shit-eating grin and rubbing his wrists.

Some suspender-clad prick marches out behind him, pointing a menacing finger. "I'm gonna be on you jerk-offs like stink on shit, you hear me, Cullen?"

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Quit your bellyaching, already."

A few more detectives file out of the rooms, including Slick and Glasses who flank Suspenders as he goes ape, tossing files and kicking wastebaskets.

Holding the door open for us, Em tips his hat and winks at Chicago's finest. "We'll see ya in church, boys."

* * *

Leaning against his car, Lou nudges Aro when we file out of the building. "Sorry fellas, I would've sprung you sooner," Aro says, stamping his cigarette into the ground and pointing to Mr. Banner who's getting in his car, "but Sleeping Beauty over there wasn't picking up the horn when I called."

Paulie pulls a smoke from behind his ear. "How'd you know we got brought in?"

"The kid called me when he saw the card game get busted up."

"Al?" Uncle C asks.

"Yeah. He told me youse got pinched and would be takin' a tour of county if I didn't get there soon."

My uncle rubs his jaw. "I'm gonna have to give him a little scratch for the good lookin' out."

"Tomorrow's his birthday," I chime in.

"Oh yeah? Maybe we should throw him a party."

I lift a shoulder. "Bitsy was wantin' to make a big deal of it, but doesn't want to step on his mother's toes. She's pickin' up a few things for him, but the kid could really use the cheddar. His family is in a bad way."

Paulie snaps his fingers. "I'm gonna get one of the classy chassis down at the brothel to show him her tits."

"He ain't into that yet."

"What do ya mean? He's a man, ain't he?"

"He's turnin' eleven."

"What eleven-year-old boy wouldn't love to see a pair of real-life cans?"

I wave a finger. "Get him a Playboy if you want him to see jugs so bad, but I don't want any of those loose broads around the kid."

Paulie holds up his hands and chuckles. "Sorry, Dad."

"Enough about the kid," Em cuts in, adjusting his sleeves. "I gotta get home, but first I want to make sure that we all had amnesia up there in those rooms."

We all nod, knowing that the only fate worse than death is dying as a rat-fink-snitch.

"Good." Uncle C taps the bottom of his cane onto the pavement. "Tomorrow mornin' we'll meet up around ten at my house for breakfast and hash out what the cops wanted to know."

"We, uh …" I raise a finger. "We also need to discuss a certain missus who's pourin' her heart out to the authorities."

"Agreed." He nods. "Carmen Neri ain't takin' this layin' down."

"Maybe Tonia should go talk to her," Aro suggests real casual. "One widower to another."

I cast an eyeball in his direction, wondering if he needs his head examined. He can't even keep a straight face and cracks up laughing.

Uncle C snorts. "Tonia would slit her throat for runnin' her mouth."

I do the Sign of the Cross at the thought of my mother alone in a room with the wife of the man who ordered my father's death. I'll bet she'd make Aro and Paulie look like fucking altar boys if she ever got a hold of Carm.

"Eh, doesn't matter," he continues. "I'll slip his missus some coin and maybe spring for a getaway in Palm Springs or somewhere."

Opening the car door, Aro ushers us in while keeping an eye on the gumshoes watching us from the windows. "Let's split before these guys find another reason to throw the book at us."

* * *

An hour later, I creep into my own house like a burglar, tiptoeing to avoid the floorboards that creak and gently locking the door behind me so I don't wake my wife. Sleep doesn't come easy to her these days. She tosses and turns at night, trying to find a comfortable position for her and our growing little one.

"Edward?" I hear her feet pad on the wood in the hallway. "Is that you?"

"It's me."

She flips on the light. "Everything all right?"

"Everything's fine, Bits. Go back to bed."

"I wasn't sleeping."

"Why not?"

She lifts a shoulder and places a hand on her ever-expanding stomach over her nightgown. "I couldn't."

"Why's that?"

"I was worried. You told me you'd be home by ten."

"Yeah, well …" I slip my hat off my head and set it on the hook. "Our card game got interrupted by Chicago's finest. They took us downtown for a chat."

Bitsy's eyes narrow and her hands go to her hips. "Any charges?"

"Nah." I dip down and press a kiss to her temple. "Nothin' would stick."

Folding her arms over her chest, she leans against the doorway while I grab the scotch from the drink cart. "What were they trying to pin on you?"

"Ha!" I twist the cap off the bottle. "The better question is what _weren't_ they tryin' to pin on us."

"Did they mention anyone specifically?"

"Yeah a few, but like I said, nothin' would stick." The amber-colored liquid splashes around the hi-ball. "Fuckin' Carm runnin' her mouth, yappin' in their ear."

Bitsy's brows shoot up. "Carmen Neri?"

Nodding, I throw my drink back and wince as it goes down. "Yep. Crazy broad's barkin' up the wrong tree."

"She knows better."

"You'd think so, but …"

"But?"

I tap my temple. "She's a nice lady, but she's dumber than a doornail for standin' by her man. Philly doesn't deserve that kind of loyalty." Pouring another glass, I glance over and see my wife deep in thought, running her teeth over her bottom lip. "What're you thinkin' over there, Bits?"

"I'm thinking about … loyalty."

"What of it?"

Sighing, she rubs the side of her belly. "Most women have their limits, even the most loyal of us."

"And?"

"And … what if by chance his loyalty to _her_ is called into question?"

"How?"

"Perhaps if a pretty little dolly shows up at her doorstep in the family way looking for the man who got her in this predicament ..."

Bringing my glass to my lips, I smile. "Go on."

"Carmen won't be able to deny what's right in front of her." Bella points to her stomach. "And I'm sure one of the girls at the home for unwed mothers in Dyer, Indiana would be happy to provide a nice little story about what her husband's been up to while he's been away."

 _That could work_. "You think that'd be enough for her to drop it?"

"I'm not sure, but I think the shame of it all will be enough to make her keep her mouth shut."

I drain my drink and set my glass on the cart, chuckling as I think back to one of the first lessons my wife taught me.

"What's so funny?"

"I was thinkin' about somethin' you said a long time ago and how true it was, then and _now_."

"What's that?"

Stepping over to her, I hold her face in my hands. "You once told me that humiliation was far more painful than a bullet."

Her face lights up at my words. "I did say that, didn't I?"

"You did."

"But I forgot to tell you the rest of it."

"Tell me."

"If humiliation doesn't work …" She pauses to place a lingering kiss on my lips. "Use the bullet."

Laughing, I swipe my thumbs over the apples of her cheeks. "Good advice. I'll run it by the boss and see how that shakes out."

"Swell." She gives me another smooch. "Now I had a couple of things I wanted to run by _you_."

"Shoot."

Heading over to the hall closet, she opens the door and pulls out a bag. "I picked these up for Al." She holds up a pair of Converse sneakers. "Do you think he'll like these?"

 _Well, they ain't a set of tits, but_ … "Yeah, those are nice."

"Good. I got him a few shirts and some pants as well."

"All right."

"I also got him this because you said he likes sports." She drags a huge hockey stick from the back of the closet. "What do you think?"

My mind goes to him putting a beating on someone with it and I can't help but smile. "He'll _love_ it."

"Phew. That's a relief. I thought I was going to have to go back to Sears again."

Taking a seat on the couch, I lean back and drape my arm over the top. "What else did you wanna run by me?"

"Well," she shoves the items back in the closet and closes the door, "I was talking to my mother earlier this evening and she mentioned she was attending a little fundraising soirée next week."

"O-kay. What's it for?"

"Some charity, I suppose, but I was more interested in _who_ would be there."

"Who is it?"

"A man by the name of Joe Kennedy."

"Joe Kennedy? The fella who owns the Merchandise Mart?"

"The very one."

"From Massachusetts, right? His kid's a senator or somethin' like that?"

"Yes. They're a _very_ powerful family."

" _And_?"

"And what?"

I cross my leg, bringing my ankle to my knee. "And what can the Kennedy family do for us?"

Grinning, my wife reaches out to comb her fingers through my hair. "I suspect that largely depends on what _you_ can do for the Kennedy family."

I open my mouth to speak, but Bitsy winces and places a hand back on her stomach.

"Ooh."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. He's just moving around a lot in there."

Sitting up in my seat, I bring my hands to rest on her belly. "Listen kiddo," I whisper as I rub her sides with my palms. "You need to take it easy on your mother."

"I love it when you do that."

"Do what?"

"When you talk to him." She gives me the moon-eyes. "You're going to be the best father."

"I don't know about that."

"I do."

"How?"

Her fingers find my hair again. "Because if you love him half as much as you love me, he'll–" Flinching slightly, she sucks her teeth and looks down at her stomach. "My goodness, he's strong."

I drop a kiss on her belly. "You need to cool it in there, wiseguy."

"He's not going to be a _wiseguy_."

"You sure about that?"

"Of course I'm sure." She places her hands over mine. "He's going to be a _great_ man. Brilliant and handsome and powerful." My eyes flicker to hers only to see her smiling down at me. "And he'll be a _saint,_ " she softly touches my cheek, "just like his father."

* * *

 **A/N: That's all folks!**

 **Huge, heartfelt thanks to the ladies who've been gently nudging me to finish this fic for the past few years. I started Burning Saints in October 2014 right after Girl Code wrapped. Now three years later, here we are.**

 **Carrie ZM, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy – you're all so amazing and I'll never be able to tell you how much I appreciate you ladies for all you've done. Truly, thank you for all the discussions, the encouragement, the hand-holding, the time away from your families, and for every single second and suggestion you put into this process. I'm lucky to have you girls to work with and learn from – but most importantly, for your friendship. I am forever grateful for this fandom for bringing us together.**

 **Fandom, it's been a blast as always. Thanks for reading! LAHM out!**


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